Eruption
by River in Egypt
Summary: Draco and Hermione are married, but not happily and not to each other. An explosive encounter at a Valentine anniversary celebration in Malfoy Manor shatters their worlds in all-consuming heat and leaves them burning for more. Post-Epilogue
1. Chapter 1

_A/N: This story was written for the Dramionelove Valentine's fest 2013. I'm finally getting around putting it up. RL *rolls eyes* … don't ask._

_This was the prompt:_

Draco and Hermione are married, but not happily and not to each other. During his anniversary party which so happens to be at Valentine's Day he sleeps with Hermione (lemon, lemon, lemon!) in his house study. They disregard their encounter as a drunken mistake but afterwards he's being tortured by his memories of their tryst. He wants more and from what he can see, Granger wants him too. A Malfoy always gets what he wants and unfortunately for her, Granger is not an exception.

**Epilogue Compliant. Everything happens the year Hugo and Lily start at Hogwarts, two years after the epilogue. Angst, tears and heart break. Adultery. Angry sex. And yes a happy ending for our beloved couple. Harry will be mad but he'll eventually forgive her.**

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**Listen here, people: as already indicated in the bolded part above, there's going to be some EXPLICIT part. So consider this a warning. Don't like, don't read. And above all - don't send me "reviews" to point out what is blatantly obvious to everybody who can read. **

**I apologize for a mix-up with names in the story specification in a previous posting, misleading you to believe it was a Ron/Hermione story. Those of you who ever posted a story can attest, this mistake is easily done. **

**But do not complain that you read something you don't like when it's clearly marked as such, alright?**

**So, for those of you who enjoy a good Dramione story, keep on reading. Those of you who don't like Draco and Hermione doing the deed, turn around AND STOP READING NOW!**

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**ERUPTION**

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**Chapter 1:**

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"Tell me again why we're here."

Staring at the face in the gate's wrought iron, shivering in the cold and swallowing heavily on bad memories, Hermione couldn't help but whine in view of her childhood enemy's home.

Ron Weasley sighed at his wife's sharp tone. "Because I was _invited. _And you as well. They are celebrating their 15th wedding anniversary and the fact that their son was conceived on the wedding night. Astoria Malfoy is a major benefactor of the 'Bring-more-magic-into-your-dreary-life'-campaign of the Ministry to which, as you well know, I was assigned as chairman by the Auror department. We work closely together and thus, I and a guest were invited to her most private celebration."

"Ah, Astoria Malfoy," Hermione snapped, trying not to snort over the ridiculous excuse to throw money around on lavish celebrations, just to show that one could. "Well, then we _have_ to step inside. We do not want to disappoint_ her_."

Ron huffed angrily. Hermione's recent bouts of irritability were nothing new, but he didn't need her to annoy other people. He rather liked his life uncomplicated and he had enough of her moods each night when she got home without her embarrassing him in public.

"Don't start. We have a strictly professional working relationship, so don't make this difficult. I know you don't have good associations with this house, and neither have I. But I need her connections if I want this campaign to go anywhere."

Hermione snarled, "Let's just get this over with."

Personally, she thought if Ron would start clearing up the dreary life at home, it would be a great start.

The gate dispersed into smoke as soon as their wands touched the metal. With her long halter-necked silky-red ballroom gown swishing around her legs, Hermione trudged next to her husband along the long walkway up to the entrance.

_How ironic_, she mused, deep in thought. Just when she had put her own aspirations for a promising sex-life on ice she was invited to a party celebrating the very marital virtue of conceiving and having children, a side effect of having a love life per se. Invited by traditional purebloods and on Valentine's Day, of all days, to celebrate 'lurve' and the traditional way of living a married life. She felt like gagging, right on her red silky shoes. Piffling.

But the campaign Ron was chairing had good reason to exist. People had picked up their lives after the war, but it had taken a decade for them to get back on their feet. Ten years of their lives lost to turning around at every unexpected sound and sudden flash of light, lest Death Eaters be attacking your family. The next decade was spent showing their children that there was a life worth living; something her generation had extreme difficulties with.

Thus, lacking proper role models in these times of uncertainty and new beginning, many had looked for security in the traditional roles of the wizarding world, trying to make Voldemort's regime disappear as if it had never happened. Others had turned their life upside down and left their world entirely. And all of them were seeking directions, high and low.

Many had turned to her after the war, looking to the beacon Muggle-born, the brightest witch of her age, for clues. Now that Harry had retired, having done what he was supposed to do, it was as if she had the recipe for salvation, was the new saviour. Hermione had done her best to bridge the old and the new, trying to pick up the best, and some traditional, pieces of Wizarding conduct and rejecting others. She had tried to build upon the traditions without imbibing them as the ultimate truth, preserving societal rules she picked up from the elders without letting them rule her life.

But it had been hard. There had been resistance to her efforts, and apathy. At times, Hermione had felt as if somebody was always pulling her in one direction or another, on top of her professional and family duties.

Harry had totally withdrawn from public life, living a quiet life with Ginny and their children, all of whom were now at Hogwarts with her children. Hermione had no doubt that Ginny would make Harry savour the time they had together now. Harry was somewhat pliable that way, she had to admit with a small smile. It helped that they both adored Quidditch to a point of obsession and enjoyed flying together.

Both she and Ron had likewise expected to have more time together, but it hadn't materialised. And her job, which had enriched her life for the longest time, had become dull, mostly because she had reached the pinnacle in her department. The only way up was to become Minister for Magic. Therefore, she was at a dead end in her Department for Regulation of Magical Creatures, buried in bureaucracy. Having taken all major hurdles on her way except for the stone walls that were insurmountable, she was stuck in a rut.

On top of that, lively conversation was in rather short supply. Ron had taken rather too well to the telly, which Hermione had installed one day. Thus, when she came home to vent her frustration over her challenge-less work-life, there was a husband who wanted nothing but a warm meal and a warm wife. Not only did her complaints fall on deaf ears, but he scarpered to the living room to connect with his "friend" and asked her to tell him when dinner was ready.

For the past few months, Hermione felt she was going out of her mind. There had to be something that could make her life more interesting and, well, lively. There was a wild energy building in her. It felt like an excess with no specific purpose, but instead of using it for tiring undertakings like translating the entire literature about house-elves from the previous century from ancient Greek to proper English, she felt short-tempered, on edge and rather intolerant.

In her desperation to liven up her complacent life-style she had tried to do the opposite of the usual, instead of tidying up she had left things out in the open, instead of setting things straight she set them askew. She even tried to invent new patterns for their decorative pieces in the living room. The result was that their house looked a little messy and Ron was not happy with her. Still it wasn't enough to calm her inner demons, which required more chaos, more unpredictability, something out of the ordinary – a challenge for her overactive brain, a thrill for her nerves.

Hermione had a particular repugnance to cooking. She had never been able to match up to Molly Weasley. But she had done all right, she thought, with cooking spells. Only they became cumbersome when your husband swallowed everything without discretion. And in her latest state of restlessness she couldn't bring herself to be the little housewife cooking her husband's meals when she came home from work – hours after him, she wanted to add.

Trying to get rid of this restless energy, last month she had tried to invigorate their sex life, which had fallen a little by the wayside because of the children. It was only natural. But when, after a spectacularly bothersome day at work, she had been looking for relief and tried to tell her husband one of her fantasies–the one with the stranger in the disco dancing up to her and when things became heated taking her against a wall- in the hope, that they could, perhaps, replay it to liven things up, Ron had gotten red ears and exclaimed,

"Blimey, Hermione, can't you warm up to something like this? Perhaps by cooking a romantic dinner first? Seduce me?"

She had taken a shocked second, felt like she was standing under an ice-cold shower, and then exploded in his face.

"I don't want to cook you dinner first. I'm not your mother. I'm your wife; your woman, to be exact, not only the mother of your children. I thought you had figured that out by now, after living with me for 18 years. I have needs. I don't want to seduce you. I want you to seduce me. I want _you_ to take the initiative. I want _you,_ for once, to know what I want and take the pressure off _me."_

To which Ron had shaken his head and, as usual, escaped to the next room. When Hermione had made little rumbling noises like an active volcano and walked to the back of the house, Ron had simply inquired from the living room: "Where are you going?"

"I'm going to take a bath, to relax," she had huffed back.

When he asked, "Does that mean there won't be any dinner tonight?" she had slammed the door shut behind her, secluded herself in the bathroom, and lay back in the hot bath.

Seeing that she wouldn't be getting any relief from her husband, she had masturbated to another favourite fantasy, the one with the intruder in her house who surprised her in the bedroom when she was about to get dressed. After she had climaxed twice to thoughts of the sweaty stranger with the smouldering gaze, who looked somewhat like Brad Pitt in his younger years - or one of the Hemsworth brothers, didn't matter who - taking her against her bedroom wall, where a returning Ron would have seen them the moment he opened the door, she had sulked in the cooling water, sated but saddened and buried her sex life in the back of her mind.

All of which hadn't really contributed to a pleasant mood in the past week.

Pity was, being fair-minded – and a loyal Gryffindor to boot - , she actually understood Ron's point of view. If _she_ had been raised by a woman who made it her job to be the perfect mother and cook and always be _there _for her family_,_ she likely would have expected nothing else for her own life. Judged by seven children, she was pretty sure that Arthur and Molly had a healthy partnership, but she was equally certain that Ron had never surprised his parents - the benefits of magical alarms and confounding charms to keep your children away. Lacking imagination, he wanted to live what he had grown up with.

But Hermione was not the kind of woman whose sole focus in life was to take care of her family.

She had two beautiful, extremely smart children who had started Hogwarts, leaving her, at 40, free to take care of herself again. And her husband wasn't helping.

She and Ron had never been an explosive couple in the bedroom, and Hermione was okay with it. When you choose your partner for life, you didn't go with bedroom skills. At least, she didn't. You fell in love, naturally, and when he turned out to be good husband material, you married him and had children, didn't you?

Yes. Bedroom skills were a bonus but not a pre-requisite. There were many other things to cherish in your husband and those were the ones to build a life on, together.

Right.

And led you to bury your sex-life at 40 and to deal with constant tingling between her legs – an itch she couldn't really scratch. Perhaps more prudence in the selection of her husband wouldn't have gone amiss. She bit her lip. Too late now.

Right then, they had reached the front doors of the Manor, and entering the hall cut Hermione's thoughts short.

The entrance hall was filled with people in subdued traditional coloured robes, black and blue, dark green and grey, some mingling and some lining up to be greeted by the man of the house. Hermione snorted mentally at the image, which briefly flashed her mind: of her as the only one in red setting this entire stuck-up lot alight like an open flame.

Sighing, Hermione stood next to Ron in the short queue, glancing at the people around them.

Ah, there was Walpurgis Featherstone from Regulation of the Export of Exotic Magical Plants – REEMP, in short, and for practicality reasons, they took care of the _import_ as well; especially since _exotic_ plants were in short supply in _England_, of all places - of course, he wouldn't miss a single opportunity to better his standings, she thought. Being invited to Malfoy Manor had surely given him shivers of delight. She sniggered imagining the dry and boring man shivering in delight.

She knew she was being unfair and that the poor man couldn't help being so one-dimensional, any more than she could help her contumeliousness.

A sharp drawling voice she'd almost forgotten ripped her out of her deliberations.

"Weasley. And his missus. Can't imagine what you might be doing here. This is a private celebration, you know. Invite only."

Next to her, Ron bristled. "Malfoy. We _are_ invited. Astoria gave me the invitation personally."

The owner of the house sneered causing Hermione to think that, even though he had certainly grown into his looks over the years and looked better now at almost forty than he did in his youth, Draco Malfoy's sneer would always look the same and remind her horribly of their school years.

"Snippy," Malfoy said. With a _poof_ a little house-elf materialised next to its master. Hermione inhaled sharply. The elf was dressed in a clean linen toga with the Malfoy crest.

Malfoy noticed her sharp glance. "He's being paid, Granger, thanks to your legislation. I had to beat him into submission so he would accept a day off every other week, though. And to accept a uniform of sorts."

"It's Weasley." Ron tried to correct the fact that Malfoy had called Hermione by her maiden name, but he was ignored by them both.

Malfoy turned to his servant instead. "Snippy, bring me the guest list, please. There must be a mistake if Weasley here has been invited."

The house-elf was back before anybody could say anything, and thus saved the world from bad karma in the form of yet another Weasley-Malfoy spat.

Unrolling the parchment, Malfoy confirmed their names on the list with a single glance and offered his unwelcome displeasure.

"But this can't be right. Why in the world would my wife invite Ronald 'poor blood' Weasley?"

Hermione had enough. She didn't want to be here, but now that she was, she certainly wasn't going to be insulted; not even through her husband. As if her mood wasn't bad enough already.

She took a step forward and, disregarding Malfoy's wincing and miserable retreat of one small step, put her face right up to his, and gave him fire by speaking sharply.

"Believe you me, Malfoy; I don't want to be here any more than you want us in your house. But we've been invited by your _lovely_ wife because she works with my husband for some insipid reason. Now, be a good chap and go get her, so we can confirm this and get the 'pleasantries' out of the way and us from your doorstep. Because as homely as your entrance is, _I'd_ rather see the Drawing Room again, and you know how pleasant my last visit there was."

Ron looked like he wanted to sink into the hardwood floor. Hermione didn't care. If he was too timid to get entrance to a house he was invited to, how was he ever going to achieve anything in life and stand up on his own? She ignored the fact that she wasn't achieving anything either at the moment and focused her fuming entirely on the reluctant host.

Malfoy, on the other hand, held his stance after the first shock. He took up the challenge of her impetuousness and snarled right back.

"No need to become hot and bothered, Granger. Not that I'm surprised. Holding your temper like a lady was never your forte. I seem to remember a certain slap in third year … Ah, but here comes my lady."

Hermione harrumphed. Thank goodness, indeed there was Astoria, joining her husband's side and inquiring sweetly, if not entirely warmly: "What's this, darling? Why are people lined up in the entrance hall?"

Malfoy spoke sharply: "Face check. I don't want every Tom, Dick or Harry using the opportunity of your party to walk the halls of my ancestors."

Astoria, to her credit, looked slightly perturbed, but answered with perfect composure, "Draco, darling, surely I told you why I invited Ron Weasley and his guest. Ah, he brought his lovely wife. Mrs Weasley." Astoria greeted with a nod.

Hermione returned the nod. She didn't like Astoria, a typical, vapid, blonde, pureblood housewife who had nothing to do but spend her husband's money – as it has always been with these pureblood wives. But if she got them out of this situation Hermione would hold her tongue for now.

Her plan went up in smoke when she heard Malfoy say exasperatedly, "I'm not a master in my own house anymore, if poor morons are invited."

Hermione huffed. "I'm not surprised at all, given the current host."

Malfoy sneered with a heated glance at her. "Manners, Granger. Your destitute life situation aside, don't bring your discontentment into my house. It may be contagious."

Hermione bit back. "I should say the same thing about your manners. Didn't your mummy teach you to welcome _invited_ guests graciously?"

Ron and Astoria looked as if they would rather be miles away. The heated exchange between their respective spouses made the air ripple and churl, and not in a pleasant way. Fortunately, the other arrivals were distracted by the house elves bringing them refreshments. Before more unpleasant words could be exchanged, Astoria grabbed Ron's arm and pulled him into the house, away from the entrance hall, with a gracious "Please, follow me, Mr Weasley. I'll show you to our splendid ballroom".

Ron managed to grab Hermione's hand and pull her with him. Hermione sent a last scathing look in Malfoy's direction before she was pulled around a corner, and found him staring hotly after her.

She didn't see him again until after all guests had arrived and he and Astoria welcomed them formally to their celebration of "life, tradition, and the continuation of magic through offspring", as they put it.

Hermione snorted into her champagne glass. This again. Would they ever give up their blood purity ideas, passing from father to son? Wasn't that what she and Harry fought for, the dis-continuation of stupid traditions that were detrimental to life and to magic itself?

Their perfect pureblood manners didn't make up for the fact that their welcome was as warm as a cooling summer cocktail. Not unpleasant, but certainly nothing you expected when looking for a _warm_ drink on a cold February night. Hermione longed for a hot chocolate and to cuddle up to a warm body on her sofa with a good book.

After the welcome speech, whilst mingling with the other guests, Hermione could feel Malfoy's piercing gaze on her from time to time. He was enraged over her provocation and now he wouldn't let her out of his sight, she understood. But it incensed her even more and made her blood boil. How was she supposed to react when he couldn't control his insidious urge to insult her?

After several circles around the grand ballroom, and watching her husband speaking amicably but very professionally with Astoria Malfoy, who introduced him to other guests, Hermione slipped out to find and use a bathroom. A house-elf just outside the ballroom showed her the way. She sent it away, lest he wait for her, explaining that she could find her way back on her own.

After her bathroom visit, she leaned against a wall and relished the silence in the empty hallways. She could not bring herself to return to the crowded and noisy ballroom where she was forced to smile in the face of cold boredom.

From around the corner, she noticed a light coming on. Drawn to its warmth, she went and found a deserted study with bookshelves over three walls. Smiling for the first time all night, she closed the door behind her and made a beeline to the closest shelf. Letting her fingers glide over the back of the bindings, she felt the knowledge and ancient magic exude from the tomes. As usual, it gave her peace of mind to be in the presence of written knowledge. Ah, how wonderful it had been when she'd had time to open a book to read for the pure lust of gaining knowledge that wasn't immediately applicable. Those were the days.

A voice behind her caught her unawares. She stiffened a little when it drawled, "Watch out, Granger, some of these books bite."

Without turning, she snapped back, "Do they bite everybody or just Muggle-borns? And it's Weasley."

Hermione liked correcting people. She really did. And so she corrected Malfoy about her name, even though she hadn't minded it earlier in the entrance hall. Face-to-face with her childhood enemy she felt rather more secure with her own name. It reminded her of times when her life was still going smoothly. As Granger, she had always stood up to him, and he acknowledged her under this name. As Mrs Weasley, she felt somehow limited.

She heard the sneer in his voice. "Everybody but the rightful owner."

Hermione knew she would have to face her host when he continued their reluctant "conversation", as a common act of courtesy.

She turned around and found Malfoy lounging in an armchair she hadn't seen when she came in. "What are you doing here, Malfoy? I thought you had to be at your anniversary."

He smiled sarcastically in reply. "I thought I had made it clear that it's not exactly _my_ party. And it is not uncommon to find me in my own study. The real question is what are _you_ doing here?"

She hesitated for a split second too long. "I took a wrong turn coming from the bathroom and then saw the light here."

He snorted, easily detecting her lie. "Aren't you afraid of the house when you wander its hallways unattended? No husband protector, no person to account for your whereabouts, no witnesses? For all you know, the house may not be friendly towards Muggle-borns."

Hermione smiled thin-lipped, navigating around his direct questions. "And you, Malfoy? Weren't you afraid that this Muggle-born would taint your ancient halls when you allowed my entrance?"

He growled, "No more than everybody from this gaggle of people my _lovely_ wife insisted on inviting to this utterly unnecessary celebration."

Hermione folded her arms in front of her chest. "And why, pray tell, is such a lavish party unnecessary?"

Malfoy leaned back in his chair nonchalantly. "Granger, are we on such close terms that I would tell you my private dealings?"

"Fine, don't tell me," Hermione snapped coldly back. "I don't want to know."

Malfoy sneered and hissed maliciously, "Let's just say that if my wifehadn't insisted on inviting you, I wouldn't have to scourgifyevery nook and cranny tomorrow."

Hermione felt her anger boiling in her, the flames licking at her stomach. Why did he always have to insult her? Always the fact that she was a Muggle-born, for her achievements and her looks at school, and for the fact that Ron didn't come from a rich snobbish family and they didn't sit on piles of Galleons. A fact that, even though it was true for him, didn't make Malfoy any more sympathetic. She therefore had no scruple in taunting him about his discomfort.

"And now you find your home run over by riffraff and other low-lives? Poor Malfoy, having to deal with such ragamuffins, instead of his elitist purebloods. I find them suspiciously absent, you're former _friends_ from Hogwarts," she said spitefully.

When his eyes snapped to her and narrowed furiously, she recognized that she had hit a nerve. Oh, but it felt good to give out the insults for once. She felt her restlessness focus into her sharp wit and felt right again after such a long time. She added a further insult.

"And even your private study intruded by a dirty Mudblood, ah, the shame. Tainted. How will you ever clean it again when spells are not enough?" she jeered.

"Don't, Granger," her host growled.

"Don't what, Malfoy?" she snarled. "Don't call myself a Mudblood? Who if not I can call myself a Mudblood? Certainly not you. Does it remind you of the bad times when Voldemort was around?"

She ignored Malfoy's shudder. Some people were still not ready to say Voldemort's name aloud.

"Do you miss it?" she kept poking, enjoying his obvious discomfort while taking a step closer to him. "Do you miss being able to say what you want without consequences? Yes, I can imagine that the Ministry has clipped your wings as a result of your involvement in the war. You were lucky to have escaped Azkaban, but life can't have been easy with your lot being shunned by the public."

This was what had enraged him. With sudden clarity, Hermione saw that he didn't like either Ron or her in his house, as reminders of his losses in the war. The Ministry had filled its coffers with reparations from purebloods like him. The Malfoys hadn't been able to take a breath without the Ministry knowing. His sumptuous wedding to Astoria Greengrass had done nothing to improve their standing. And so they had lived in obscurity, under close scrutiny, and their former bravado had been extinguished. Lucius and Narcissa had done the only sensible thing and fled to the continent and were currently residing in France in one of the family properties. Draco must have had a reason to stay.

"Shut up, Granger. You have no idea what you're talking about," Malfoy spat at her.

Hermione laughed derisively. "Oh, but I think I do or you wouldn't be so upset. Does my presence remind you of the lost good times?"

It felt good to rub salt into his wounds. At least, something was moving in the stagnant rut that counted as life. Gleefully, she watched him squirm.

Malfoy bit his lip and did his utmost not to reply to her insinuation while his eyes shot cold fire.

She went to his armchair and bent over him. With her own frustration over her hapless life spilling over into this dispute, she became ruthless in her attack. Thinking of this man's relentlessness in putting her down during their youth, she wanted to see him defeated; flat on his back with her wand to his throat in the ultimate threat. The same way she wanted to scream out her frustration of her life, floating in a pool of complacency, with no way to solve it because the other people involved would not budge. This blond man and his lot were at fault that so many people sat back, seeking directives and let their lives pass by while she struggled to move something.

"What's wrong, Malfoy? Can't even defend yourself to a simple Mudblood because the Ministry has your balls in a vice and as soon as you raise your wand against me, they'll ship you off to Azkaban?"

With a swift move, he pushed himself up out of his armchair in agitation making Hermione move back into the middle of the room if she didn't want to bump heads with him. It would have been intimidating, but Hermione was just the right amount of incensed to be unaffected. Her own indignation stood up against his, like clashing clouds, causing chaos and thunder. In fact, she was glad he was finally reacting. Her defeat of him would be so much more satisfying. A sitting duck, with clipped wings, was no worthy target.

"Careful, Malfoy. If you come any closer, you may catch my Mudblood germs," she breathed in his face with a provocative sneer.

"Don't you dare make fun of me for the fact that I can't shit without the Ministry asking for texture details because of my _parents'_ involvement in that stupid war," he growled in her face.

She leered back. "And what about your involvement, Malfoy? Dare you deny that you did your utmost to stop Harry, Ron, and myself, that you put obstacles in our way wherever you could and tried to get us expelled? That you led Death Eaters into _Hogwarts_?"

"I didn't know you were so vulnerable that you carried grudges over a misguided and extremely pressured boy's immature actions, oh Granger the Great Gryffindor. I thought you were bigger than that," he sneered at her.

"I am," she exclaimed, eyes wide in outrage. "I _am_ bigger than that."

"I see no proof," Malfoy hissed at her. "All I see is that you try to kick a man who's already down."

"Oh, boohoo, Malfoy. You lead _such_ a miserable life. Beautiful wife, money out of every orifice, a mansion where you could easily fit every single war orphan in its own room, a generous lifestyle…"

"Shut up, Granger," he hissed, stalking forward so that she had to move backward if she didn't want his spittle in her face. She went until she felt the bookshelf poke in her back. "Shut the fuck up, for Merlin's sake!"

He pushed her up against the bookshelf as a threat. "You don't know a thing about my life, Granger. Not a single thing."

His body heat pressing into her drove her own temperature, and with it her temper, up.

"It's Weasley. And what would be a thing to know about your life? Care to enlighten me? Are the house-elves not cooking your favourite dishes to perfection? Is your arse not being sufficiently powdered? Does your wife not spread her legs wide enough when you shake a sack of Galleons?"

If looks could kill, she'd be frozen and burnt up at the same time, skewered and grilled over a spit-fire and _crucio_-ed until her heart gave out. Malfoy's eyelid twitched because he was obviously trying very hard not to strangle her.

Her heart was doing overtime, working against the discrepancy of the body heat and the ice-cold anger coming from the enraged blond in front of her. She didn't know if she shivered from the cold or trembled from the heat.

She laughed derisively in spite, while looking at his closed-off face, and – because it was at her eye level – his mouth. She had never noticed his lips before. They had always been distorted in a sneer or a smirk. _The perfect swing, _she thought while looking straight at them, slightly parted to let the agitated breaths through. _How unfair. They look like precision instruments of verbal torture – but also as if they could kiss the life out of you. Better than Ron's slobbering meat bulges._

"Do not talk about my wife, _Mrs_ Weasley," he growled in her face. His body shifted even closer and he raised his arms to cage her against the bookshelf at her ear level. Hermione wasn't concerned. This was nothing she couldn't jinx herself out of. But it added to a certain thrill in the air and she liked the feeling of an explosion coming. Perhaps it would resolve her balled-up frustration.

"Is _your_ married life as perfect as it looked tonight? Where you can't stand to be in your husband's company for more than two minutes before being bored? Where you'd rather go exploring a stranger's house, where you were tortured the only other time you visited, than enjoy yourself in the company of other people? What reason do you have to be angry, Ms House-elf Liberation Legislation, Ms War Heroine, Ms Best-Friend-of-Harry-Effing-Potter?"

_Not kissing, biting, definitely biting_, she thought, staring at his moving mouth. She was a bit surprised at the accuracy of his observations and struck back. "You're not a stranger. And do not insult Harry," she hissed at him.

He overplayed his surprise at her words and went for her admonition. "Then do not tempt me to consider a sentence in Azkaban because I laid a finger on your precious Mudblood neck for insulting me, Ms Perfect-Boring-Life."

Feeling his breath flow over her face and her neck from his agitation, she stood trembling from her own excitation. _Provoking Draco Malfoy in his own house, Hermione, what's gotten into you?_ She couldn't explain it any better than her pent-up energy finally finding an outlet, rubbing against his barely hidden anger. For a moment, she was surprised that she didn't actually see sparks.

There was a crackle in the air, like an unfinished spell where the energy was still hovering, expelled from the wand but unfocused because it hadn't been directed yet. They were both ready to snap. Something had to give any moment now.

Hermione, unable to stand the suspense, dared him in an angry whisper: "Go on. Touch a Mudblood. It wouldn't be your first time, would it? I mean, I hit you in third year, didn't I? So, you've been contaminated before. Seems you survived."

Draco Malfoy felt as if he was drowning in a magical backlash. Everything about Hermione Granger reflected suffocating aggression and provocation: her dress, her sassy mouth, her rosied cheeks, her angry eyes. Doused in reddish light which reflected from her stunning dress, there was energy to spare, angry, wild, abandoning energy clashing with his anger like two angry dragons. He felt it in the way the little hairs on his arms stood up. It made some of his muscles contract involuntarily. He couldn't explain any other way why he bent forward as if to claim the pair of red lips that a rosy tongue had just moistened.

While staring at those plump red bows where her air huffed through, smelling of the champagne that was served in the ballroom, he only thought about how he could possibly squeeze those delicious fruits until they burst and red juice ran out, running over her chin, ruining the fruits forever. In mere minutes, Granger had dragged up everything that was wrong with his life, the same way she'd always done: his social isolation, his lack of actual friends, the Ministry's monitoring, his _wife _Astoria. From their first year at Hogwarts, she had flaunted in his face everything that was wrong. And on this day, she had done it again.

He couldn't hurt her because indeed he would be locked away in Azkaban if he attacked a Muggle-born.

But he wanted to punish her so badly that he almost felt he had no choice but match his painful existence against pain put on her.

Without a second thought, he moved sinuously like a snake with the strength of a predator cat and pushed her further backwards against a bookshelf, trying to smash her spine against the wood. With bared teeth he attacked her lips; only to stop cold when she angled for his and sucked frantically on first his lower, then his upper lip, which she captured between hers, and licked and pressed and nipped fiercely before his teeth could find a hold.

His breath caught. Granger's ministrations on his lips shot an impulse right to his groin that he had never felt before. Astoria was more the "lay-back-and-let-my-husband-do-what-he-must" kind of woman. An impulse of arousal from a partner's action was new. He felt something stirring.

He changed tactic in mid-movement, grateful for being a flexible Slytherin, and pressed his lips back against hers. Perhaps if he pushed hard enough he could still burst these ripe red fruits. He could almost taste the sweet juice already.

But they moved too quickly. Her head wouldn't stay still long enough to put enough pressure on. Whenever he tried to capture one lip between his, she pulled it out and retaliated by taking his between hers. When he used his tongue to still her lip for better capture, she moaned and held her tongue against his, which in turn shot another impulse to his groin. When he used his teeth to capture her plump muscles, she whimpered and took his lip delicately between her teeth and nipped. A delicate sensation that, to his surprise, made him tremble and breathe heavily in excitement. And, feeling frustrated, he nonetheless found himself playing the same game in no time, nipping, sucking, licking, pressing his lips and tongue against her, trying to get the upper hand, moaning for a release of the ever escalating energy building up inside.

Madness.

A small part of his brain processed the fact that he was snogging Hermione Granger and that he shouldn't be doing this, but since he was, how he could use the fact that he _was_ doing it.

But a bigger part of his brain had forgotten why he shouldn't be doing the snogging and gave into her sweet smell and velvet tongue and lips and resolved into the delightful sensations that made all conscious thought stop and focus solely on the heat and actions coming from her body and how it shot to his prick and excited movement.

The niggling small part of his brain cautioned him that he should stop before Granger hexed him to the next room. But the male part of his brain was gearing up to carry this to the end. The way things were going, this frantic energetic build-up had to resolve in an explosion; an explosion of a very specific kind. He felt his lips pull into a smirk and his hands move down to her plump bottom.

Three impulses invaded Hermione's brain at the same time when she felt his lips on hers. The first was to pull back and knee him in the groin, the second was complete, paralysing astonishment and the third was the realization that she was pushed hard against a bookshelf and kissed out of her senses quite thoroughly. And that she liked it quite a bit.

Sure, at first it hadn't felt like a kiss at all, but with her corrections the windows in the study would soon fog up. Who would have thought that Malfoy was such an enthusiastic kisser?

Snogging heatedly, the thought crossed her mind that she had never been kissed like this and that she couldn't get this from her husband. This made her anger swell up again like a tidal wave.

Angry at Ron and at herself for missed chances, her kisses turned fierce and ruthless and she began to insert bites into the kisses she received, the same way Malfoy did. She liked it. They sucked and knocked their teeth against each other, enjoying and punishing their indiscretion and each other at the same time.

While her lips moved frantically with his, her brain took door number three and overrode the impulse to flee and hex him. Instead, she raised her arms to sling around his neck for leverage and to thread her hands in his hair.

He pushed his body closer against hers to inhibit her movements, pushing his groin against her centre, and took her lips between his teeth. She gasped at the delicious sensation and was flooded with an exciting smell.

His smell was sharp and spicy and contrasted nicely to Ron's earthy smell. It was familiar. He had always smelled like it and she was used to it, but it always reminded her of a basement cellar and rotting food. She'd tolerated it because it was Ron. But this new one was delicious and she wanted more of it.

And perhaps, in a very tiny part of her brain, she was trying to pay her husband back for not keeping her from this restless state. This state that drove her insane.

Madness.

Thoroughly turned on by this unexpected arousing treat, Hermione felt her hips moving, seeking friction aimlessly, when they found purchase in the front of his trousers. Recognising an erection for what it was, there was a powerful surge through her, knowing that she could get Malfoy to want her, something her husband was very reluctant about. She pushed her hips forward again, hitting the spot exactly and heard him whimper. Sweat broke out on her forehead at the sound.

After a few more attentions to his arousal and subsequent moans, she was pleased to hear him growl madly, "Fuck, Granger, I have to impale you."

She sniggered breathlessly, ready to admit that his suggestion was the only suitable solution to her pent-up dilemma. "Impale away, Malfoy."

At his renewed growl and lifting under her bottom, she participated by slinging her legs around his waist and lifting her arms back to hold onto the shelf behind her. Her dress parted in the middle and fell away and left the access to her body open.

He did a swift job with her underpants, she suspected a non-verbal _Evanesco, _and with his own clothes, and then he was in. And Hermione had to bite her lip not to squeal in delight. She closed her eyes and let her head sink back on the shelf with a guttural moan.

She couldn't, however, suppress a broad grin at the glorious feeling of being so filled. So good. She felt her inner walls flutter in bliss.

After a while she wondered why nothing else happened and opened her eyes again to see what Malfoy was doing; only to find him staring at her and trembling from head to toe.

Alarmed, she started to say, "Malfoy, what…" but was interrupted when he grimaced and closed his eyes.

She didn't have time to work out his actions because Malfoy ground out, "Shut up, Granger, just… shut up." To underline his words, he shut her mouth with his and, shoving her backward against the shelf, he started moving.

While Hermione had thought the feeling of him in her was good, she soon learned that his moving in her was better.

Aroused from their heated snogging, the friction of his movements had her writhing in no time. This was what she dreamt about, in her fantasies. Hearing him groan with every shove because he was in _her,_ was a sign that it felt good and catapulted her higher; and feeling him rub over her most sensitive zones, she soon had to voice her delight.

"Oh, Merlin, Malfoy, don't stop, please don't stop."

She heard his whimpered reply and enjoyed the feeling coiling in her belly; the unruly energy in her winding up and focusing on a specific point now. When it sprung, all this diffuse energy bogging her down would release her and she would be free again.

And so, she bit him again, right on his chin, and then licked soothingly over it, and he pushed hard and angled to bite her earlobe.

She felt it blooming in her. Doused in heat, which seemed to stem from somewhere where their bodies touched, it unfolded like a flower in sunshine, stretching out to the all-consuming heat. Even though he appeared to try to harm her by hammering into her with utmost force – which she enjoyed tremendously- and she wondered how to bite him painfully, she felt her muscles tense.

This was the same feeling she had when dreaming about her Brad Pitt fantasy in the disco. But it couldn't be, she couldn't seriously be … she never had …

Before she finished the thought, Malfoy had put his hand there, exactly there, and while hammering away, he pinched her clit two, three times and she exploded in thousand pieces with an incredulous scream, scattering her pent-up frustration into space.

"Oh my god, oh my god, Malfoy, MALFOY!"

Trying to keep a hold on her sanity, she quickly ran through the facts that this was the first time she had ever exploded while having a prick in her. Ron got her up by using hands and tongue, always as a foreplay and while she enjoyed having the prick in as soon as she orgasmed, Ron had never made her come once he was in her. Every time they'd tried, she ended up not coming at all.

And this, this was IT! It was so strong that she literally clamped down on him. She could hear by his sounds that he was coming close as well, and she felt the friction over her clamping muscles and it added a second climax on top. She clung to the bookshelf behind her with her hands and felt Malfoy squirting hot liquid into her centre while grunting: "Ah, ah, ah, Granger, GRANGER!"

Tightening her legs around his waist for dear life, pulling him deeper into her because it felt so bloody darn good, she felt her inner muscles pull on him for good measure.

This was what she had wanted after her frustrating work days. Was that too much to ask of her bloody husband, just to help her with a bit of relief?

Soothing warmth submerging her, she felt Malfoy's tension subside and his body slump against hers. She rested her head on the shelf behind her and blinked for focus.

She wasn't worried about becoming pregnant. She took precautions because she didn't want any more kids, with Ron or anybody.

But there was something niggling into her conscience through the haze of bliss and peace: the thought of her _husband._ Who was not the one breathing against her neck nor the one whose spunk was dripping out of her.

"Oh God, oh God, what have I done, what have _we_ done?" she squealed when it hit her.

"Don't go all guilty on me, Granger," came a muffled reply from her neck. "'Impale away' was the instruction if I remember correctly. And I do."

Upset by her guilt and newly angered by his nonchalant reply, Hermione screeched, "Malfoy, let me down this instant!"

To his credit, he did - immediately and without any further snide comments. He even scourgified her, eliminating the liquid that was just starting to run down her legs, before he did himself.

Sorting her clothes, she hissed at him, "It goes without saying that this can't get out."

Malfoy replied snarky, stowing his equipment away in his pants. "Your admonition is completely unnecessary. Do you think I want to be shunned even more because I shagged you? Not to mention enduring your revenge should you think I had anything to do with it getting out."

Hermione huffed, whether in further upset or relief over the agreement, she wasn't quite sure. "Good. I shall be going then. Thank you for your… hospitality."

The blond man she had just shared bodily fluids with replied with a perfunctory nod and a frown. "Thank you for coming. Your visit was certainly… entertaining."

She ignored the jibe and stepped out with a responding nod, closing the door behind her. She didn't hear when he hummed a malicious "Happy Valentine's Day, Granger" after her.

Within five minutes she had found her husband and convinced him that she had done her duty with her presence at the party and was returning home. Ron looked somewhat disappointed, but acquiesced with a nod.

At home, Hermione took a shower, ridding herself of all bodily fluids and smells that came from her sexcapade. Because that was all it was.

Lying in her bed afterwards, she thought she would have to talk to Ron soon. This couldn't continue.

She had given in to her desire and let herself be shagged by Malfoy, of all people. Ron was going to kill her.

On second thought, Hermione wasn't sure if he was going to kill her because she'd cheated, or more for the reason that she'd cheated with _Malfoy_.

Ron hated Draco Malfoy with a passion. He had never forgiven him for his role in the war as a perfect excuse for his jealousy of the other man's riches. Hermione was smart enough to recognize her husband's anger as badly disguised envy over the fact that Malfoy could _buy_ everything he wanted. Ron and she were comfortable with their double income, but they would never aspire to Malfoy's level of money. She personally didn't need that kind of wealth, but Ron was still smarting from the fact that Malfoy had been able to taunt him.

She was quite aware that her cheating was a symptom of an already diseased marriage. But she wouldn't be a Gryffindor and Hermione Granger, now Weasley, if she wasn't going to try and salvage it. Her friends and his family would never forgive her if she just up and went without a fight. Harry, she wouldn't be able to look Harry in the eyes ever again, if she simply abandoned his best mate because she hadn't been _satisfied_.

But it was dreadful. She was so tired of working herself to the bone because other people expected it of her.

Talking about disease, she felt quite fevered. She wasn't possibly coming down with anything, was she? Hot flashes, shivering, tingling all over her body – while a strong mind could deny anything, Hermione was smart enough to realize that she was re-experiencing the pleasurable shivers of shagging Malfoy. God, despite her anger and her spite, it had been good. She wanted… she _needed_ more of that to keep her balanced. Moreover, she deserved it, in a way.

To her own surprise, she didn't feel very guilty. For Morgana's sake, she was a witch, she had been instrumental in saving the world with Harry, she had brought children forth, and she had been an indulgent faithful wife for almost twenty years, she deserved a reward, for Gryffindor's sake, didn't she? It had felt entirely liberating to give in to the urge to cross the threshold from aggravation to intimation. It was the same thrill she'd had when going with Harry on one of his "strolls" at night in the castle.

Enjoying the satisfied tingling of her body, she thought, even if never again with Malfoy - that had been an accident never to be repeated - she had to do something to save her marriage before somebody came to harm. She couldn't go around shagging men like Malfoy to seek satisfaction.

Tomorrow, she would talk to Ron.

When Ron came back, two hours later, she pretended to be in a deep sleep.

Draco Malfoy gave into his thoughts that night in bed as well. Utterly relaxed over his mind-blowing climax into Hermione Granger, he'd been especially nice to his wife for the rest of the night. With the gates of desire opened, he had tried to put a move on his own wife, to expand a little on this mind-blowing feeling of utter explosion and subsequent satisfaction.

Nevertheless, he had not really been disappointed when Astoria had claimed a headache and retreated to a separate bedroom after the long party had finally come to an end.

Business as usual. Astoria was never up for intimacy. Not that he was seeking real intimacy with his wife of 15 years. However, a little romp in the sheets occasionally would have been nice when the fancy struck. They _were_ married after all.

Draco tried not to feel bitter over the utter uselessness of his marriage. And then he had to go and celebrate in public its reason, something as redundant as a perfunctory union to continue a "pureblood" Malfoy line. It wasn't that he didn't love his son, he did, but he would have preferred if Scorpius grew up in a more loving environment. It was difficult to hide the fact that Draco could barely stand Astoria's prattling. His son was simply too smart.

Oh, his life was comfortable; Granger had been entirely right - but it lacked anything worth living for.

Draco was quite certain that the entire rebuilding of the wizarding world had been paid out of his pocket, with his friends disappearing on the continent and taking their money with them –he was sure that the Swiss banks had experienced a bank spring. So, between the ministry's monitoring and annual punishment payments and watching other people from his generation picking up the pieces of a war they never wanted, Draco felt he had all right to feel thoroughly disgruntled.

There should have been at least some family ties, some safe haven at home, but his parents had scarpered and Astoria was about as warm as Fortescue's newest creation, which made coming home about as welcoming as the Dark Lord's meetings in the Manor.

Fortunately, Astoria had been extremely fertile and conceived on the wedding night, so, they had stopped pretending to enjoy sleeping with each other a long time ago. Well, he had two healthy hands. Somehow, a mistress wasn't that easy to come by with his reputation in shreds.

On the other hand, he would rather stay at the Manor despite its bad memories than bugger off as his parents had done. He liked Scorpius going to Hogwarts, it was a good school and he would rather stay alone in Malfoy Manor and under scrutiny of the Ministry than abide living with his parents.

He had already enough contact with his father through their business dealings.

He wouldn't be able to stand his mother's smothering love and his father constant criticism and Astoria's simpering in their presence for more than a fortnight. Living with them, they would all be dead in a month, succumbing to the urge to strangle each other.

If he didn't have his work and his son, he would have done away with himself a long time ago. However, he was a Malfoy, and Malfoys only went out with a bang. He owed it to his family legacy to keep living until a better cause for the exit came along. Like being _Avada'd_ by a certain Dark Lord.

Well, that opportunity had passed him by. He was still here. And dreaded every single day.

Then Granger waltzed in and pointed everything out precisely. Why couldn't she leave him alone? Why did she have to drag up everything that was wrong with his life in a single, fairly one-sided conversation? Gosh, he hated her guts.

And then she had to turn his world upside down by being the best shag he'd ever had. How perverse was that?

Who would have thought she had such a hot pussy? He knew it was wrong on so many levels, but that was the beauty of it, somehow.

After trying to salvage the Malfoy reputation and legacy for the past twenty years, it had felt good to do something that was so totally unexpected and out of line with his usual conduct – like shagging a Muggle-born. It was liberating.

Reliving the titillating sensations of her smell, her sounds, and just the feeling of her around him, he shuddered when his prick twitched expectantly.

He was sure that Granger would have some marks on her back from his thrusts.

He couldn't help a cruel little smile. Even though she was a great shag, that didn't mean he had suddenly overcome his dislike of her. She was still the insufferable know-it-all. Severus had had her number, all right.

But he had to admit that she was a witch and a healing charm was surely second nature to her. An excellent witch, actually. Energetic. Loud in her enjoyment.

Who would have thought that of all the witches he knew, Granger would be willing to be shagged wildly against a bookshelf? He had never had a chance to see that side of her; had never expected he would. A little smile stole its way onto his face. He rubbed his face with both hands, trying to get a semblance of equilibrium, to no avail.

Hot. Merlin, it was hot in there. He pulled his bed sheet aside and felt the cool night air on his sweaty skin.

Merlin, when he had entered her he had thought he would pass out over the blissful sensation. Only Granger's nagging voice had brought him back from the brink of immediate explosion. How could this woman fit so perfectly?

Hot. It had been hot. Steamy and passionate.

With Granger. Who belonged to the Weasel.

While mulling over the fact that sex with Granger was more than enjoyable, Draco Malfoy had to admit – not too loud - that with all his riches he had been beaten by Ronald Weasley in the woman department. Figure that.

He couldn't let that sit. He wouldn't be a Malfoy if he accepted defeat like that. Something had to be done.

A plan of humiliating Granger, and the Weasel as well, formed in his mind. When the time was right, he would let drop what they had done in his study. He only had to see how to get the most profit out of the situation; perhaps by getting rid of his wife as well.

Perhaps he should repeat the deed, so she couldn't wave it off as an accident or coercion. Twice she couldn't deny.

Yes, that sounded like a plan. He would find a way to get her again and then let the Weasel know that his wife was shagging him, Malfoy, rather than her own husband. Let her try getting out of that one. He only wished he could do it in front of the Weasel.

Now, how to entice her into letting him in her pants again? She couldn't be coerced, she wouldn't enjoy that and that was no fun. Boring sex he already had at home.

Well, until he could think of something, Granger's secret was safe with him. But beware when the right occasion came along.

.

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_A/N: Many thanks to Rumaan for Brit-Picking and sensemaking and Mccargi for beating this story and for more sensemaking. I appreciate the extra time  
you invested in shaping and polishing this work. Your work makes a huge difference. I cannot thank you enough._


	2. Chapter 2

_A/N: Thank you for your lovely feedback. Hey, scv914, welcome back, long time no see. ;-)_

_Here's the next installment. One more chapter, which I will likely post around Easter. Yes, the story is finished since it was written for a Valentine's fest and no, there won't be any "little Dracos", xena._

_Happy reading_

**Eruption**

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**Chapter 2:**

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Luck was on his side.

The next time Hermione ran – literally - into Malfoy, it was two weeks later at the Ministry. He steadied her with his hands on her arms and she shivered at the touch.

"Steady there, Granger."

The scent. His scent. Hermione inhaled the sharp and spicy smell that was so typical for Malfoy and that she had experienced to its fullest in his study. It was wonderful and cloying at the same time. Wonderful because she loved its tangy taste on her tongue and cloying because it reminded Hermione of her cheating.

And the fact that her body reacted to the wrong man.

And oh, how it reacted.

Her lips tingling at the memory of his frantic kisses and bites, making it impossible to ignore the sounds from her memory when he came, she couldn't do more than stare at Malfoy and swallow. And feel how tight her underpants were clinging to her bottom. Thank Morgana, she had put on the black lacy ones this morning.

Her eyes wide, she stared at his face. He looked almost delighted with his eyes glinting, that couldn't be right. Where was his usual sneer?

She ripped herself out of his steadying contact and stomped down the corridor without a second glance. She was so deep in shock over her involuntary reaction that she didn't pay his parting words any mind. She didn't hear his call of "Will I see you at the get-together later?" nor did she see his frown at the sight of her quickly retreating back.

Hermione didn't think until she had reached her office, slammed the door shut behind her, and sunk against the wood, sliding down to a sitting position.

Leaning her head against the dry, warm material, she thought back to her discussion with Ron the morning after the anniversary celebration at Malfoy Manor.

"_Hermione, be serious. You want what?"_

"_I want us to work on our marriage. I'm intellectually and emotionally starving. With the children gone to Hogwarts, all we do is go to work and sit in front of the telly. What happened to us? I want talks. We only talk about the children. I want intimacy. I cannot connect to a man who doesn't look at me and doesn't talk to me."_

"_Stop being childish. What do you mean you're starving? Are you having your period? Are you pregnant? Oh, Merlin, I remember your early days of pregnancy. You were unbearable. But what delight when we had both kiddos, huh?"_

_Hermione was angry. Again. She wasn't even going to mention her indiscretion if Ron still saw her as a one-dimensional housewife. But now she felt trapped; trapped in the picture Ron had of her and trapped by the fact that she had cheated, which was wrong. She couldn't really regret it, though, because it had been good and she deserved goodness. _

_Ron would never understand the subtleties of what happened and it would only make him miserable and her guilty. It wasn't her fault alone that she was so susceptible to another man's advances, but it certainly wouldn't help if she confessed to Ron. It was an accident and would not happen again. She couldn't change the past. But she could work on her future with Ron._

_And so, she took a deep breath and, through her anger, focused on her mission alone. "No, Ron, that's not it. I'm not pregnant nor will I ever be again. If you remember, a mummy and a daddy need to have sex before the mummy becomes pregnant. Do you remember the last time? I don't. And I'm done with kids, I told you that. Hugo is eleven and I'm forty."_

_She didn't know why his disappointed look still hurt. He knew she hadn't wanted any more children. Just because he had grown up in a house full of children – a fact he never neglected to complain about – didn't mean she was going to become a baby factory. Oh, no, after two, she needed to use her brain again for other things than talking about nappy rash. _

_Perhaps it _was_ some guilt. But she knew it was a matter of her already dysfunctional marriage that she had let herself go in another man's arms. Yes, she had made a mistake. But she wasn't going to blame herself to kingdom come over it. She wasn't going to let it slide either, lest she repeat. Once was an accident. But if you did it again, then you had some serious character issues. _

_But the fact that Ron's ears became beet-red angered her beyond comprehension. What was he thinking, being shy about sex with his wife? She realized in that moment, there was no way she would ever have a healthy sex life with her husband again without serious work on her part. Sisyphus work._

_Ron apparently hadn't noticed her rising anger because he didn't mind enraging her further._

"_Honestly, Hermione, what do you want me to do? Enact one of your silly fantasies? Do you know how embarrassing that is? Do you know how silly I feel? You can't be serious."_

_He ignored the fact that Hermione's face paled even though her anger reached a dangerous threshold. He ploughed on, directly into his relationship grave._

"_I've been indulgent with your wish to go to work. I knew you wouldn't be satisfied with sitting at home, busy-body that you are. But do you think there would be any other man who bears your working hours and picks up your slack with the kids? Who is left sitting alone each night because you can't find the exit over your oh-so-important work?"_

_Hermione felt her feet grow cold. He dug right where it hurt the most: the fact that she thought her work was important but at the moment was going nowhere – something that peeved her endlessly. Along with the fact that he wanted her to be the good housewife and she just couldn't see herself as one. Either he didn't know her at all or too well – but then, he wasn't really malicious, was he?_

"_Ron!" she whispered warningly. He ignored it, to his own peril._

"_All you needed to do was keep yourself busy at home. That shouldn't be too difficult. What do you have your big brain for? Find something to do. And then, you would be on hand when I came back and have dinner on time, like my mother always did. Do you think my mum gets bored? Never. She always had her hands full and got herself very well organised. As for complaining about your work: you didn't need to bog yourself down over it if you just stayed at home. Wouldn't that solve all problems?"_

_The coldness spread up her legs and into her stomach._

_At her lack of response, Ron came towards her. "Don't be mad. I'm just sick and tired of listening to you complain about a job that you really don't need to do. We are comfortable, aren't we?"_

_Hermione was too stunned to point out to him that she was the better-paid breadwinner in her position. The coldness in her had reached her lungs and she couldn't breathe. Ron jabbered on._

"_I love you and you love me. Let's not fight over who we are, hm? Perhaps you should take some time off work, so we can spend some more time together. There's … Quidditch. Harry's asked me for ages to go with him and Ginny. We'll make it a foursome trip and have a great time. And you'll forget a bit about your work, relax, and take better care of your husband, hm?"_

_The cold reached her heart. If her husband suggested Quidditch for her to relax and taking care of her husband then, apparently, he didn't know her at all. It made her feel ice-cold and too paralysed to say anything but:_

"_Out, Ron. Get out!"_

"_What…?"_

"_GET OUT!"_

Hermione let her head sink to her knees.

Ron had been incensed but moved back to his parents temporarily; he had complained loudly while packing his bags that there was no talking to her in her state and what was it with women in their forties? Arthur and Molly had been less than pleased over the situation, as had their friends. Hermione had had no time to come to terms with her life because of the stress and pressure of her fight with Ron.

Harry had stood on her doorstep the same afternoon to ask what was going on. And when she'd tried to explain it to her best friend, all she'd received was a reproving raised eyebrow. She'd sent him on his way until he was able to understand her side, which had left a hollow feeling in her stomach.

But now, faced with the other participant of the faux-pas which kicked off her entire situation, her body reacted to Malfoy's closeness with a racing heart, a tingling apex, and a longing for liberation that could only be satisfied in one way and he was going to be at the socialising later, which she couldn't skip. She was in trouble.

As expected, the get-together was finished in short order. Hermione wasn't even quite sure what Malfoy was doing there because he didn't work at the Ministry. She assumed he had come on Astoria's behalf.

However, when she saw Malfoy at the other end of the room she drifted closer and closer like the moon pulled in orbit, helped by the fact that he moved inconspicuously in her direction. As soon as she had reached him, he had grabbed her hand and pulled her with him to her office where he had snogged the living daylights out of her, much to her delight, as soon as the door closed.

She clung to the collar of his robes, unable to decide whether to push him away or pull him closer. She knew this was wrong, but the sensation of his kiss was so good. So good, in fact, that when he pulled back to breath she followed his movement for a bit and made a dissatisfied moue when he separated.

He chuckled. "By Merlin's nine lives, Granger. I need to breathe. I'm not letting go."

Subsequently, he hoisted her up and she slung her legs around him, and they kept snogging against the door until he carried her over to her desk. She didn't put in any resistance, thinking about lost causes, when he'd sat her down and positioned himself between her legs, where, lying back, she came as soon as he entered her. The only thing that registered consciously through the mist of pleasure was the fact that he trembled and moaned the same way as _that _night in Malfoy Manor under her hands when she climaxed and he shot hot semen into her mere seconds later. And so they stayed, temporarily sated but not quite satisfied.

Until he murmured in her ear, "Granger, you need to carry a warning sign. 'Do not enter; you may never want to leave again'."

She chuckled hilariously. Until he said the next thing.

"Come home with me."

She only hesitated for a second. They were breaking all the rules anyway. A Malfoy and a Muggle-born shouldn't be together.

Their relationship was explosive and that was a good thing.

They were both married and they didn't care.

And their shagging was so liberating that they needed more of it.

Looking at them, Hermione shivered in delight: two sweaty delirious people who were far from done for the night. She _needed_ this, this resetting of her convoluted brain waves.

Recklessly, she consented. _I wouldn't be doing this if Ron kept me satisfied. It's his own fault. Why do I always have to do all the work between us? He should know what I like after 18 years, _she thought.

Driven by her longing for the complete fulfilment she'd experienced in Malfoy's arms, resulting from the explosion of epic proportions, it so happened that she snuck off to the Floos separately, but reuniting with Malfoy right there and they went together through, only to fall out on the other end already in another heated kiss. Before Hermione could stand and brush herself off, Malfoy had already snatched her up and apparated her to a room somewhere in the Manor. The pull feeling in her stomach could have been a side effect of the apparition or for entirely different reasons.

He deposited her on the edge of a bed. At her inquiring gaze, he explained: "My room. Not my married suite but my boyhood room."

He didn't give her any time to over-think things. She wasn't very inclined to do so in any case, as she'd already followed him willingly to his house, delirious with want. And, oh, how he made her _not_ regret her impulsive, reckless action.

She let him dispose of her clothes quickly and douse her entire body in tender attentions. Nooks and corners she didn't know she had were sensitive and reacted to his tongue, his lips, his teeth, and his fingertips: the outside of her breast, the inside of her elbow, the instep of her feet, the pad of her hand, the area right below her navel. His hot breath over her moistened skin contributed to her already heated body temperature.

She felt as if she was broiling in her skin, doused in her own flushes. The glorious feeling when he entered her again was almost a relief even though she had already climaxed three times. The glorious feeling of connecting her body passionately with another body, the unequivocal surrender to the moment and the rewarding eruption of her wants and desires in reaction to letting go of all bindings made her delirious with satisfaction. She tightened her legs around his back and pulled him in to his intensifying moans.

Hermione didn't hear Malfoy's grunts over her own whimpers and moans and screams of his name and her delight when she came. She couldn't feel anything but the oneness with the universe when she broke apart into a million tiny shards, like lava pieces spewing from a heathen mouth, covering her world in smouldering ashes.

It took many minutes before her focus had come back to earth and was narrow enough to recognize the man draped over her relaxed body. She recognized the blond head that had sent terror to her heart when she was young and had now become the sun in her ever-expanding universe.

"Stay the night," he whispered when he felt her stirring.

Hermione didn't feel that she could move if she tried, her muscles and bones a mush of satisfied tissue. Perhaps things would be easier in the morning. There was nobody waiting for her at home.

"Okay" she said and let herself sink into oblivion.

Draco found himself alone when he awoke the next morning. After a moment of disorientation, he was surprised that he felt utterly disappointed that he _was_ alone. What had Granger done to him that he somehow missed her presence and felt let down?

When he had accosted her the previous night, his only thought was to hit on her again and take her home to make her his. She had been more than willing and he had already mentally triumphed that he owned her. The fact that Ronald Weasley had moved out of the house and that Harry Potter was a little miffed at Hermione Granger was no secret. The wizarding world was like a babbling gossip pot. Nothing was safe for longer than two minutes.

He wasn't sure if she'd confessed her cheating or if she'd cleaned the table in her rotten marriage, but it was either way to him. They were apparently splitting, making the Weasel miserable and Granger inclined to shag him again. What more could a good enemy want?

Nevertheless, when he had shagged her on her desk he had been entirely taken by this delicious feeling of being in her and of Granger's reddened cheeks and throat in the throes of abandonment and surrender to the lust. It pulled pleasure from his toes all the way up to the crown of his head.

And she hadn't stopped him. She had let him explore _every_ part of her body, which was sweet to the touch and taste and been very pliable to his desires. They had tried out more than one position and he had been surprised that she went willingly. Draco had been more than stunned how she pulled him in, deep, deep into her heat, surrendering her body as if he had never done her any harm. She drew him into her until he couldn't stand the tension of her power over his pleasure anymore and erupted, shattering all pre-conceived notions about superiority.

He had come more than once with loud grunts and moans, just fucking, fucking, fucking her into the mattress.

And now he couldn't stop thinking about how he could get her for another time.

Infatuation was the word. There could be no other woman like this.

It wasn't the lack of a morning-after shag alone that made him disappointed. Sated and exhausted after numerous explorations, he had scooped her in his arms to fall asleep. She hadn't protested because she had already been out cold.

Hermione Granger- he refused to call her Weasley- fit very nicely in his arms, and her soft skin, her shapely form and her sweet smell had been very enticing when he fell asleep. As a result, he had slept well and was well rested for the first time in a long while. Doused in their mutual smells and completely spent and relaxed he hadn't felt this good in years, if ever, cuddled up to a witch who should by all rights repel him.

Which she didn't. Decidedly not.

In fact, rubbing his shoulders comfortably into the rumpled sheets, stretching out his sore muscles, he deliberated how he could keep having this with Hermione, for acting his revenge out on them, of course, and shaking off his useless frigid wife at the same time, which clung to the Lady Malfoy title as if attached with a sticking charm. Just now, she was off doing Merlin-knew-what in her function as Lady Malfoy, which was why he had to go in her stead to the Ministry the previous night. At first, he hadn't been happy because he was not on good speaking terms with the Ministry. Then Granger had run into him. He smirked at the thought of how she had looked like a caught doxy: wide eyed and entirely paralysed.

Draco knew Hermione Granger would never agree to an affair, even though she obviously reacted to him. In the long term, her conscience would win out and she would stop their exchanges.

Why couldn't Astoria just be persuaded to cheat on him, find a lover, be paid off and done with it? Scorpius wouldn't be happy, but he wasn't happy with their indifference and cold distance anyway. Besides, Scorpius was at Hogwarts now, most of the year. Thank Merlin. Draco thought in all his years, he never figured it could be warmer at Hogwarts' dungeons than at home.

A light went on in his mind: he could use Granger's help for his work. Her systematic, well-organized mind would surely see the problem in his conception, where he didn't see the forest for the trees.

If he proposed to Granger that she come to work with him - the purpose of his research and potion would surely sway her - he would be in close quarters with her for a long time to come. Given their recent reactions to each other's presence perhaps he could just let nature take its course.

He could keep shagging her, goody, and break her and the weasel up for good; constant adultery did that to a marriage. By acting out his revenge, he could rid himself of his wife when she found out. He didn't mind paying her off, as long as she was gone – so far, he hadn't seen the point. It had made no difference to him whether Astoria was there or not. On top of everything, he would have Granger solve his problem and find his long sought potion _and_ he would play the knight in shining armour when he would console her over her break-up. And get more shagging out if it.

_Yes_! Perfect plan if he was saying so himself. Salazar would be proud of him.

The shagging, especially, appealed to him.

It was a little unnerving.

He was quite certain that he wouldn't ever be able to pass her again in the Ministry hallways without trying to pull her into a secluded spot to shag her senseless. His overwhelming reaction to flashbacks of the erotic images of Granger when she was aroused would make that impossible. Flashes of heat went over his body at the thoughts of her moans and bites and flushed soft skin and the feeling of her sheathed around and moving with him. It made him grab his prick firmly in his hands.

He quelled the cautious little voice in the back of his mind, which tried to warn him that his plan for revenge could backfire spectacularly if he became anymore infatuated. Imagining just a fraction of their actions from the previous night, he drowned it out in another orgasm at the memory of the heat between them.

It was time to take action.

Hermione was broken up. Sitting on her sofa the morning after over a steaming mug of tea, she was torn between doing the right thing and _doing the right thing._

The right thing to do would be to kick Malfoy to the curb, reconcile with Ron, and buckle up and be a good wife. However, there was a clench around her heart whenever she thought that; an ice-cold hand squeezing her life-giving muscle to the point of suffocation. It hurt.

It had also hurt like hell to tell her children that mummy and daddy couldn't be together anymore. To see their incredulous faces when they had come home for the weekend to find daddy gone – she'd take a Cruciatus any day.

Facing Harry's and Molly's anger and Ron's listlessness left her hot and cold; hot in anger over her nincompoop friends who didn't want to understand her side of it; and cold around the heart over the fact that the love of her life was over. And that Ron had never understood what she truly wanted. That he still believed all she needed was to take care of him like any good wife.

"_But I love you," he had said desperately when they met to discuss their separation._

"_You don't love me," she had scoffed, angry over Molly's disapproving scowl when she had entered the Burrow. "You love the idea of a witch who caters to your every wish. Like your mother. So far, I was smart enough to manage _even though_ it's really not my main focus. Well, I've got news for you. I'm equally tired of it as you are of hearing me whine."_

Her 'thing' with Malfoy, on the other hand, made her temperature soar and her face flush when she only thought about it. About the huffing groans he made when moving in her. About the surprisingly tender attention to her body last night.

But she couldn't have stayed. She had been unable to leave due to her satisfied weakness right after, but staying to the morning, _waking up and having breakfast together_, was equivalent to saying it was right when it wasn't.

He wasn't her man.

He loathed her.

He had taunted her all her life.

Then why did it feel so right?

Morgana, the exploding heat when she climaxed with him; the way she blew all circuits when coming, re-setting her overactive brain; the feeling of literally _breaking_ apart, breaking out of her entrapment, breaking all the rules, breaking _free_. When she came, she wanted to pull him into her, imbibe him, make him part of her, swallow him whole, install him permanently in her, make him cover her nakedness forever like the hot ashes covering the earth.

Because it felt so right. She'd never felt that way with Ron. This had to be right.

Could they start anew? Forget old hurts? Cross their drawn borders? Meet in the middle, on fertile grounds? Did she want it?

Stretching out on her sofa, with her sated body clearing her mind, Hermione decided, even if she couldn't quite answer those questions, that she was done with being told what to do. She was done with living up to everybody's expectations and being the golden standard: Harry, Molly, and every Tom, Dick and Harry in the street, trying to tell her how she should behave as the war heroine and wife of Ronald side-kick Weasley.

Since he was in her thoughts more often than not, Hermione wasn't entirely shocked when Draco Malfoy knocked on her door a few days later.

"Malfoy."

"Granger."

This time, she didn't correct him. It was uncertain how much longer she would be called 'Weasley'. Molly was still angry, but she couldn't live her life according to Molly's standards.

"What are you doing here?" she asked wearily.

He frowned. "Is it so unusual that I've come to see you?"

Hermione raised a cynical eyebrow. "Well, yes."

The regular sneer made its way in Malfoy's face, only to turn back to a frown.

"Even after the last two times we met?" he asked mumbling.

Hermione shook her head. It was clear Malfoy was trying to be amicable so as to not repel her. However, he was not going to get her compliance just because she couldn't control her libido around him.

"What do you want?" she asked warily.

"I have a proposition for you. May I come in?" Draco tried to be as non-aggravating as possible. If he wanted to win Granger for his plan, he had to stop enraging her.

Only the fact that she'd shared bodily fluids with him – more than once – made Hermione open her door and let her former enemy enter. "I was just about to make tea. Would you like some?"

The glance he gave her could only be called controlled non-sneering. He did have manners, however, and managed to say, "That would be… lovely."

When they sat over their steaming mugs of tea at her kitchen table, Hermione thought how strange it was that Draco Malfoy sat quietly in her kitchen. The only thing that seemed to connect them, and that only recently, was the fact that they were able to shag like rabbits, but that didn't seem to be on his mind in that moment, staring into his tea as if the secrets of the world were drowning in there.

She nudged him verbally, "Well, Malfoy?"

"Do you know what I do for work?" he asked carefully, uncertain how to bring her to the point of consent. Only the fact that he had trained himself not to spout any insults at Granger, made it possible to have some kind of civil conversation. And the fact that he thought constantly about her soft skin and how it felt pressed up against his.

She shrugged. "Governing your family companies?" Where was Draco going with this, she wondered. What did he want? Sex was the only thing she could think off. Did he want her to become his mistress? Yeah, not bloody likely.

He snorted. "Yes and no. Father is still doing that, from his exile in France. He gave me a healthy part to spread my wings on but didn't leave the entire thing in my "immature" hands, as he put it."

Hermione snorted back. "Are you still paying a mind to what your father says, honestly? You are almost forty years old, married, have an heir, and I'm sure with your intelligence you are quite able to do your work sufficiently. What does your father want, for crying out loud? A second Lucius?"

Malfoy looked at her with mixed emotions. It felt uncomfortable that other people could see so clearly what was going on between him and his father. On the other hand, this was Hermione Granger, and it felt somehow comforting to bathe in her reprobation. "You know, that's exactly what he wants."

Hermione snorted again. "And what exactly does that mean?"

Malfoy's face fell into a bitter frown. Why did she have to hit the point always so accurately that he was compelled to answer? Nobody else asked those questions of him.

"Well, for one, the married and creating an heir part. Further, carrying on his legacy of pureblood traditions and…" He hesitated.

"Yes?" Hermione inquired.

"And he wants me to set my mark on our world the way he has done with his meddling in politics," Malfoy grumbled.

Hermione laughed heartily. "Well, good luck with that. I hope with all my heart that you won't become any _more _like him. There are enough similarities, but luckily, you are still quite different."

Malfoy looked as if a Beater's bat had smacked him in the middle of his face. "I believe that's the nicest thing anybody ever said to me."

Hermione scoffed. "Figures."

When she saw his face and how a dozen emotions fought their way to the surface, she re-considered her outburst and said with more empathy, "I'm sorry to hear that."

She tried to reach a hand across the table top to put it on top of his, the way she would have done with any of her friends, but considered otherwise. He was not one of her friends. He had always been repelled by her Muggle-born heritage, and even though they had shared their bodies, she wasn't sure if he would appreciate a friendly, deliberate touch. He might consider it condescending.

Malfoy looked at her hand in the middle of the table as if it was a foreign object. Then he stretched out his hand and, drawn by the memory of her soft heated skin, he put his index finger under the opening between her thumb and fingers, until their thumbs touched. He stroked once, twice over her arch on the inside of her palm almost as if it didn't count if nobody could see it from the outside. Nevertheless, she'd felt it, of course, and was once more surprised at the unexpected tenderness of his actions. Perhaps it wasn't all lost with Draco Malfoy.

Hermione surveyed him with narrowed eyes. There was a man who tried to aspire to something through his own achievement and had been slighted at every turn, not for lack of wealth, but for adhering to traditions that didn't really mean anything except repeating mistakes from the past. A man who was fighting his own demons and who didn't know how to behave towards her because he had been told all his life that she was supposed to be inferior and now he found she was not.

"How about," she ventured carefully, treading uncertain waters, "setting your mark in the world for something that everybody can respect?"

His head snapped up. "Like what?" Did she just provide his opening?

She shrugged. "I don't know. Something that will help everybody. I know it's very unlikely for you, but that would say something."

Draco stared. The world was turning in circles. He had just thought about how to get Hermione Granger to help him while continuing his plan of ruining the golden couple. And here in her kitchen she had given him the advice he had found for himself and so far had been unsuccessful to follow through with. He swallowed. He was not superstitious and Professor Trelawney had been an old fraud if there ever was one, so Divination was really not his thing, but this was too close to home to be ignored.

"Granger-" He hesitated again but then gave himself a push and finally told her what was on his mind. "I took over a Malfoy Enterprise branch that creates potions. I have a particular interest in research for magical maladies. I've looked into Muggle medicine and realized that even without magic, they know how to counteract many diseases. With our magic, we should be able to do so much more. Especially where it comes to magical madness."

Hermione looked at him stunned. Was he thinking of the same madness she was thinking about? A glance from him confirmed it. His grey orbs hard as steel, he said through clenching jaws, "You were there. She was far from my favourite aunt, but she was still family. If I can right some of the damage she caused, perhaps the nightmares will stop and I can sleep better at night."

"Draco!" Hermione exclaimed, using his first name for the first time in their acquaintance, and pulling her hand back as if it had been stung. Was he actually trying to make amends?

He looked down. "Yes, I know, too little too late. But I have to try. Only I'm stuck. I think I have all the necessary ingredients, but I can't get them to interact and I don't know why."

After her shock, Hermione was intrigued. Solving enigmas was her favourite past-time.

"What's happening?"

A little irritated, talking about his potential failure, Malfoy was still trying to speak in a tolerable way and explained: "Well, the way Muggles tackle madness is by focusing on the imbalance in the brain. We know that's the cause. The overload of magical current causes the brain to tilt off balance with no way to right itself again. We've believed magical madness to be irreversible, so no one's ever tried doing anything except throwing more magic at it, which likely only made it worse." He paused to take a deep breath.

"But Muggles found a way. There's no cure all, but they've made amazing progress getting Muggles out of their brain induced haze. So, I thought, why shouldn't it be possible with magical madness? It's just a matter of finding the right concoction and magic. We know ways to counter confounding and befuddlements. We have wit-sharpening draughts and ones for clarity of mind. Magical Madness is just a deeper state of confusion"

Hermione was more than intrigued. Her face lit up at the prospect of this puzzle, the worthy cause, and hearing about unexplored avenues of magical research.

"Well, I believe, it's a bit deeper than that, but listening to you talking, yes, I agree, it should be possible to find a cure," she said beaming.

"But I'm stuck," Malfoy continued with a frown. "One element is missing and I can't find it. It's a jungle of ingredients and they don't want to go together."

"What's in it?"

Malfoy took a deep breath. "I based it on wit-sharpening potion, but there are two elements to it. One is to bring clarity to the affected mind and two is to draw out or put the affecting dark magic to rest. For that reason, I added dragon blood for its mind strengthening and healing powers, uses five and seven of the twelve uses of dragon blood. Further, Armadillo bile, of course, Wiggentree bark, Sopophorus beans, a hint of Scurvy grass, as a marker against the befuddlement, ginger root, Shrivelfig, regurgitated Milkthistle and Dandelion to rid the mind of the toxic magic and as an agent against the death cap poison, which I need to drive out the magic from the affected tissue, arnica, Wormwood, Vinegar, Salt, Sulphur Vive, Sal Ammoniac, garlic, shredded horn of a unicorn, egg of the Runespoor, honey water and mint sprigs for the taste and to contain the side effects of the wormwood, powered moonstone to open and invigorate the mind, Mandrake root and lionfish spine, leech juice, fluxweed and a piece of dragon liver, Dittany and billywig sting, sardine oil and salamander blood, in that order. And Silverweed and Snakeweed against the burning side effects of the swallowed potion."

Hermione had listened with increasing attention. "Why Scurvy Grass and not Sneezewort as a Befuddlement marker?" she asked when he'd finished.

Draco shook his head. "Too strong. You would need powered Snake fangs to counter the Sneezewort and that would nullify the awakening effect of the Mandrake root."

Hermione nodded. "And turn the wormwood into the deadening, not the euphoric version. You're right. Do you use Starthistle?"

Draco shook his head with a smirk. "No, Silver Milkthistle. I'm Slytherin, remember?"

She grinned.

"Yes, I remember. How did you come up with the idea to use an egg of the Runespoor in addition to the unicorn horn?"

Draco looked smug. "Well, while the Runespoor egg is commonly known to increase the mental agility of the drinker, as well as the purification effect of anything to do with unicorns, it is only documented in a very old diary of my great-great-grandfather Cygnus Malfoy that you can use the shredded, not powered, horn to pull the healing effects of the Wiggentree bark and the mind strengthening effect of the dragon blood together into a strong mind healing draught. One of the widely unknown powers of unicorn parts."

An appreciative eyebrow went up in Hermione Granger's face and an excited smile stole its way on her face.

"Draco, that is an ingenious piece of magic."

Draco grinned. "Thank you. I knew you would be able to appreciate this."

Hermione was already deep in thought about the potion and its potential. She waved his compliment away and said, "Yes, yes, but don't you think you should add the Dittany before the Mandrake root to aid the extended mind healing effect?"

Draco shook his head with a frown. "I've tried it. The whole potion curled up in one of Longbottom's balls, I'm not ashamed to admit. It was worth a trial, but that got me nowhere. Now, imagine adding the Shrivelfig and then stirring counter-clockwise. It would turn the potion red instead of green and the following Milkthistle may be better absorbed into the magic. I need to write that down." He patted his pockets for a piece of parchment.

Hermione took a piece out of a kitchen drawer and slid it over to him.

"Here," she said. "Self-filling quills are behind you."

While watching him jot down his idea in his organized writing, her thoughts were already on to the next possibility.

"Have you thought about adding the Dittany right _after_ the Runespoor egg and before the Mandrake root? It would turn the potion green and make the salamander blood diffuse better into mixture," she mused.

Draco couldn't suppress a smile at seeing her enthusiasm. With her gleaming eyes and her face a little flushed over the excitement of finding and creating new magic, he thought she looked almost beautiful. She was clearly concocting a potion in her mind, looking about her kitchen as if the recipe was written all over her walls, she even moved her hands in clockwise and counter-clockwise turns, depending on her thoughts.

Looking at her expressive face, Draco felt absolutely certain that he was doing the right thing in that moment. Not to mention that Hermione Granger had turned out to make an incredibly arousing bed partner on occasion. His plan for revenge aside, if he could use Granger's brain for finding the solution to his cure he would be world-famous, and so would she. He didn't even mind sharing with her. And that didn't concern him as much as it should have.

There was just one problem. He needed to know.

"Why did you separate from Weasley? He loves you. In the end he would have forgiven you or he's even more of a git than I always tell him."

Pulled out of her working mind, Hermione shook her head. "Love is a battle field - but it shouldn't be a war." She lowered her head. "And I've been warring."

Draco felt entirely on thin ice with this conversation, but was intrigued against his will. "What against?"

She shook her head again, as if she could rid herself of her reason to war by shaking it off. "Against being forced to live a life that's not mine."

There was a potent second of silence after her words. When they looked at each other, the widening of his eyes reflected the epiphany in her eyes. They both understood what she'd said at the same time. He barked a short laugh at her ironic reason. When she covered her face in her hands to hide her blush, he reached over the table to pull one of her hands to him. He chuckled when he saw her discomfort over her realization.

"Honestly, Granger."

She pulled her hand out of his in embarrassment, which sobered him immediately. It wasn't really funny. And he felt the lack of touch like a slap. He had come to her with a purpose. There was a purpose. It was time to lay the cards on the table.

"Help me, Granger."

"What?" Despite her intrigue, Hermione was surprised that he would ask for her help.

"I need a brain like yours to find the missing element. Please." He got up and came around the table to stand next to her.

Hermione hesitated. What about her work, even though it was stuck in bureaucracy? And could she trust Malfoy enough not to exploit her own contribution and take all the credit?

His next words proved his sincerity. He took her hand again to make her look at him, and stroked her palm. She inhaled sharply at the unexpected sensation.

He stepped into her space and held his mouth next to her temple and whispered in her ear, "Help me find the cure. Think of Longbottom's parents."

She shivered at his closeness.

His next whisper swayed her: "Earn your own spurs. Make your mark in our world through your passion for knowledge, for magic. Make yourself unforgettable."

Passion. Passion was the key word.

On a sharp exhale, she turned her head and found him already looking at her, eyes smouldering dark as storm clouds. She heard her heartbeat thrumming in her ears. Passion.

That was what had been missing in her life. Passion for her work. Passion for her love. Passion for her life. And purpose.

Running with Harry had been life or death. Surviving. Escaping fear and suppression, barbaric times, torture and pain. They had fought with a passion for their survival and their right to use magic despite their heritage. In times of peace, passion was what propelled people forward and gave them purpose.

She didn't even know how her lips had ended on his. She only knew that she had moved. She had claimed.

Hermione was claiming passion for her life again.

The rut was over.

Well.

Except for the movements on her kitchen table.

The next few months were spent with passionate creativity. She had quit her job and started working at Malfoy's potion company. On her first day, he had shown her to her office with her new desk that they christened half an hour after she'd arrived. She had been flustered and wondered about the impression she was leaving with the other colleagues, but nobody had said a word after they'd seen her working.

The first time she had left her office and research, going to the laboratory to check the ingredients and their origin, Malfoy had joined her there and introduced her as the new head of project. He had made it clear, much to her embarrassment that they were all, in his words to 'defer to her superb knowledge and follow her every command'. Then her new colleagues had witnessed the speed, accuracy, and precision with which their new head of project and CEWiz (Chief Executive Wizard) were working together.

Malfoy was not above working in the laboratory with his staff. His love of potion making kept him from being shut away behind a massive desk. The staff knew him well and respected his expertise. However, when they saw him exchanging bits of knowledge tit-for-tat with Hermione, their respect skyrocketed.

"Did you stir the Armadillo bile in counter clockwise?" Hermione asked.

"Three times clockwise, then five times counter clockwise, yes. With a silver spoon."

"Good. How did you cut the ginger root?"

"In squares, then rectangles, as per instruction by Harmonius Cudweight, for the preparation of Draught of Clarity."

Hermione nodded. "The garlic, where did it come from?"

"Transylvania, as per recommendation of Madam Pomfrey. Transylvanian garlic is the best."

Hermione was stunned. "You asked Madam Pomfrey for help?"

Malfoy smirked. "Only the best."

Hermione grinned. "I take that as a compliment."

Malfoy nodded. "Please do."

"Which version of regurgitated Milkthistle did you use?"

"Pooped out by three-days-old baby birds."

Hermione eyebrow went up. "That one is certainly the most effective, but almost impossible to come by."

Malfoy smirked. "Not for me."

Hermione smirked back.

Week after week, captured in the thrill of discovery, through trial and error they worked their way through every possible combination of potion ingredients and magic, only to come up empty on the other end. But it didn't deter them. With zeal they went at it again and again, working quickly, speaking rarely, and only to exchange instructions for the partner, which were usually completed before the sentence was finished. They worked in perfect synchronicity, which was beautiful to behold and left their laboratory colleagues in awe.

Additionally, working side by side, it happened from time to time that a passing of a silver knife ended in a prolonged touch, or the wordless confirmation of a successfully concluded process concluded in a warm smile. It was obvious that both partners enjoyed this level of commitment to their work very much.

They were the first to come and last to leave, never demanding the same work ethic from their colleagues, and if they disappeared every once in a while and re-appeared with red cheeks, swollen lips, and skewed clothing, the laboratory staff didn't mind looking the other way. They respected their boss and his vision.

There were times when Draco and Hermione fought like cat and dog over the tiniest lapses. But despite their subsequent fuming, their accuracy was never compromised.

Even the unlikelihood of the connection between their bosses didn't lessen their impression that this working team was a happy coincidence. If the glances Draco Malfoy sent Hermione Granger on the sly were any indication, then deep seated satisfaction was what he found with her.

Still, there were times when all air went out of them. The constant circle of trial and error tired even the most zealous of researchers.

"This is the fiftieth concoction that we've tried and yet…" Hermione said, frustrated.

"I know."

"I was so sure that adding the Armadillo bile _after_ the dragon blood would help the flobberworm mucus thicken the potion."

"It did."

"We are running out of options."

"I know."

"We can't be. There has to be another solution. What did we not look at?"

"I don't know."

"What would Severus have done?" she mused, tipping her chin.

That got his attention. "Severus?"

"Yes. He was a genius with regards to potions."

"I know, but I thought you regarded him as a two-faced spy and tormentor of your childhood."

"Oh, he was far from pleasant, but that doesn't take away from the fact that he found ways to spectacularly improve potions by the time he was in his sixth year. How did you think I knew about squeezing the Sopophorous bean with the side of the silver blade? Ingenious, really."

Malfoy was stunned. "How did you know?"

Hermione smirked. "I saw his sixth year textbook."

The smile Malfoy sent her could only be described as blinding. Just like that, Hermione felt highly motivated again to sit down and try to get into her old potions master's mind.

It wasn't unusual that after everybody else had gone Malfoy stood beside her in the laboratory, or one of their offices, and attacked her neck or throat with frantic kisses. The same kind of greedy, fierce kisses they had exchanged their first time in his study. At times, it didn't go further than heated snogging until he let go, panting hard against her skin. At other times, he pulled Hermione closer to his body until he could enter her in one of multiple positions they had tried out. And she always let him. Not only let him, but encouraged him with equally fierce kisses and moans because the heat from his body, from the friction and their passion warmed her clammy bones.

Her friends and family still weren't happy with her because of her separation from Ron. She still received the cold treatment from those who considered her ungrateful or too big for her boots. Molly in particular gave her the cold shoulder the way she had done in fourth year when she believed Hermione was toying with Harry's heart.

But they were making made some progress. Ginny stood by her and gave her mother an earful each time she witnessed Molly's ire. And the other day, Harry had come to talk once more.

"Malfoy, Hermione. How can you work with Malfoy? After all he's done to us?"

"It's not the working _with_ Malfoy alone that's so intriguing. We are working on a cure for the madness side effect from the Cruciatus curse. Harry, can you imagine what it would mean when we find it?"

"**If** you find it. With Malfoy."

"Will you stop harping about Malfoy? He's not so bad. He's a very diligent potion maker. And, unlike you, without instructions from a genius potioneer." Hermione blushed a little. That wasn't Malfoy's only quality and it was a little unfair to rub Harry's face in the fact that he was not as good.

Harry had seen her blush and ignored her distraction. His eyebrows shot up and his mouth fell in a gape. "You're sleeping with him. Hermione, are you sleeping with Malfoy!?" he exclaimed.

Hermione couldn't hold a secret. Not to her best friend. "Yes."

Harry wasn't sure whether to be flabbergasted or upset. "Are you honestly telling me that you gave up your life with Ron to sleep with Malfoy?"

Hermione frowned. "There wasn't much to give up on anymore, to be honest. Harry, I didn't do it lightly. I didn't get up one day and tell myself 'Oh, let's go sleep with Malfoy and throw my family away.'"

That sobered Harry. "Then how was it?"

"It, oh, alright, I did sleep with him one day. But it was an accident. I didn't plan it. It overcame both of us. There was no foul play. We were fighting and aggravating each other as we always do and then all of a sudden we were kissing and we couldn't stop. It was so good, Harry, it was so everything I was missing and could never get otherwise. And then I couldn't turn back. I couldn't stay away. And then he came to me with his proposal to work together on his potion, and I just had to take it. Imagine what it will mean for everybody when we find the cure for one of the gruesome curses of Voldemort's regime. How it would boost morale." Hermione stopped briefly to tousle her hair in upset, which made it stand even further on edge.

"I didn't do it for the sex, Harry, please understand. I was going out of my mind with Ron, stuck with his desire to turn me into a housewife."

One sober look at his desperate best friend close to tears convinced Harry in the end. Hermione was the epitome of thoughtful. She didn't do lightly. She didn't do weak. He believed that she hadn't betrayed Ron without a second thought. She must have berated herself endlessly. Her brain processed ten times as many thoughts as his, so he didn't even want to imagine what had gone through her mind. If in the end she had gone this way, then the other way must have been really wrong. And she was still his best friend.

So, he pulled her close at her shoulders. "Be careful, Hermione," he whispered in her hair. "Don't let him crush you. But if he does, I'll be here to help."

Hermione returned the embrace with a passion. "I will," she whispered back, answering each of his statements. "I won't. Thank you, Harry."

With her heart a lot lighter because of Harry's acceptance, she returned to the lab where, finally, after weeks and weeks of checking ingredients and process methods and months of doing and re-doing the potion recipe, one night, when Malfoy came up to her in the laboratory, it clicked in Hermione's brain.

Her body immediately seized at his closeness, preparing itself for whatever he was going to do. Thinking of the way he had once taken her from behind over the lab table, to the detriment of some vials with harmless premature states of potion, and how hot it had become in the small enclosure of her table and surrounding shelves when they both came with a guttural scream that would have everybody else come running if they hadn't been alone, Hermione made the connection when he bent over her and she felt his warm breath at her temple.

"Heat."

He pulled back. "Pardon?"

"Heat, Draco. It's missing heat, at the exact time of the fusion of magic and potion."

He frowned sceptically. "But we're brewing it in a heated cauldron already, of course."

"Yes," she conceded. "But it's not enough to make the ingredients and the magic connect. To accelerate the vibrations of the magic with the ingredients in the potion, to bring them up to the same vibration as the catalyst, to swing in unison with the magic weaving through, we need extra energy. Two people doing two different spells. One the binding. The other the heat. Exactly at the moment of fusion. A heating spell."

Malfoy's eyes lit up when the Knut fell. She blushed when she saw the heat develop in his eyes as he made the connection.

"Heat. Why didn't I think of it?"

"Because it was missing," Hermione whispered. "From both our lives."

Well, there was plenty now. Malfoy's fierce gaze heated her from head to toe and made its home in her lower stomach. In a split second, he crowded her against her work top. The edge of the writing surface poked into her back.

"Salazar's slithering snake, am I ever glad I asked you to help. Heat."

He pulled her around and close to his front. An exhilarated kiss later, two smouldering glances met. "Clear your station, Granger," he whispered against her mouth. "We'll give it heat."

She struggled in vain for a bit. "_Don't_ order me, Malfoy." Then her body succumbed to his closeness and his greedy kisses down her neck with a moany exhale.

Draco chuckled against her shoulder. "Not that kind of heat, woman."

With a twiddle of his wand, he cleared her workplace himself. All paperwork, quills, documents, and vials set neatly on a nearby, unused station.

Then he lifted her up to sit her on her table and shoved her backward on the even surface, settling between her legs. "This kind."

Hermione opened her lab coat wide because it had gotten entirely too hot all of a sudden.

.

_A/N: Any feedback is appreciated. Except the unsigned, blatantly insulting one - that will simply be laughed at - and deleted. ;-)_


	3. Chapter 3

_A/N: Happy Easter everybody. Here's the last installment. Remember, it's a Valentine's story. Enjoy the Easter gift from me :-)_

**Eruption**

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**Chapter 3:**

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A few months later, the CEWiz of Malgra Magical Potions and Research along with his trusted Chief of Research held a press conference on February 14; a Monday.

Draco Malfoy addressed the press such: "You will be pleased to hear that due to the unremitting effort of my Head of Research, Ms Hermione Granger, my staff at Malgra Magical Potions and Research, and myself, we have found, replicated and tested a cure for magical madness as commonly evoked by a lengthy application of the Cruciatus curse.

Ms Granger and myself are now available to answer any questions you may have regarding the development, testing, and immediate distribution of the potion. St. Mungo's has already been supplied with enough vials to clear out the Janus Thickey Ward, at no cost beyond the reimbursement of the materials for production."

It was clear that Hermione, standing proudly next to Draco Malfoy and beaming broadly, couldn't be any happier.

After satisfying the thirst for technical details, the reporters inevitably went to questions about the two, more or less beaming, people in front of them.

"Mr Malfoy, how does your wife feel about your close work with Mrs Weasley?"

"I thank you for leaving my wife out of it. In any case, you should ask her, and not me," he growled a warning at the reporter. To no avail.

"Mrs Weasley, although your credentials in this work are remarkable and I laud you for this incredible discovery, is there any chance of you reconciling with your husband, Ronald Weasley, war hero?"

"No," Draco Malfoy snarled before Hermione could even address the questioner. "Ms _Granger_, a war hero herself, will _**not**_ reconcile with her _**ex**_-husband. Because she will have plenty to do, working for my company."

At Hermione's stern look and the gasp from the crowd at his impetuous reaction and the newest news – as far as they knew, Mrs Weasley was still Mrs Weasley - he snarled to the crowd, "And I said no personal questions. If you have nothing further, but to inquire after undignified gossip, this press conference is concluded."

Turning to Hermione with a scowl, he said, "Lunch at one o'clock for a business meeting."

When Hermione joined him in his usual lunch place, she was surprised to find him sitting over a firewhiskey at lunch time, contemplating the pattern of the tablecloth with diligence through the bottom of the tumbler. Taking her seat across from him, she was further astonished to see that he was nervous when he looked up. The thin smile didn't deter the impression, but rather supported it.

"Granger," he greeted.

"Malfoy," she greeted back. "What's this about? He is not my _ex_-husband. Not yet."

He evaded her question by asking her lunch order and only when she was supplied with a glass of wine and a plate of melted goat cheese over caramelized aubergine did he admit to what was on his mind.

Carefully secluding them from accidental listeners with a _Muffliato_, he said, "I have a proposition for you."

Enjoying the delicate taste of the cheese and the sweetness with the crisp wine, Hermione swallowed before she prompted him, "Another one? Which is?"

Malfoy surveyed her carefully, downplaying his uncertainty, and followed her next fork of goat cheese into her mouth before he said, "Date me."

If Hermione hadn't expected any of this, she would have spluttered and choked on her bite. But she had seen it coming. There was only one reason for Draco Malfoy to be nervous.

She had no clue about his intentions, though.

So she asked, "Why?"

Draco shifted in his seat. "Because we might as well. We've been sleeping with each other for months, we've accomplished amazing things at work, my marriage is shot and I'll make it known tomorrow. We might as well make it public."

Hermione couldn't help her smile. Malfoy at his best. Coming from him this was as close to a love confession as one got. "That's not very romantic."

He looked sceptical. "You want romance?"

Hermione cocked her head. "In a way."

He sighed and then he turned his napkin into a bi-coloured, feather-blossomed rose and handed it to her with a flourish. "For you."

Romance on demand. Well, most likely, that was as good as it would get with him. He swept her of her feet in other areas, though; Hermione had to admit that to herself.

She took the rose and with a soft smile thanked him before she put the flower down next to her plate.

"What makes you think I want to spend my life with you? You used to loathe me. We fight more often than not."

He sniggered with a sly grin. "You. Or dare you deny your racing heartbeat when you're with me? I can feel it too, you know."

Hermione blushed only a little. She was beyond the blushing stage, considering what she did with Malfoy on a regular basis. And no, there was no denying that. He did make her heart race and her blood boil with a touch, rubbish, with a breath alone.

He had more to say. "Do you deny that we fuck or work just as easily, depending on our mood? You can sit on my lap or behind a desk across from me with equal ease. You can push me against a wall or a heavy book with the same ardour. And that's something you love beyond anything. Admit it."

No, no following orders. But he didn't expect her to answer.

"I've been exclusive since our first time a year ago. There will be no other. I would be a fool. I am many things, but not foolish."

Hermione was surprised to hear this and made her astonishment known with a sceptical mien.

He answered her unasked question. "The feeling of you around me is one of a kind. I've never felt anything like it and I'm not going through trial and error with many meaningless women to seek something I already have. Back to my remark about foolishness."

He leaned forward and put his arms on the table. "You don't have to move in with me. You can decide every single day if you want to stay the night with me or rather relish your quietude."

"What about the children?" Hermione asked calmly, despite her racing heart.

"What about them? They have to split their time between their parents now anyway. And on occasion perhaps we can have them altogether, yours and mine, in the same house, wherever we are."

He made sense. But the main question was still unanswered.

"Why should I be considering it at all? Why shouldn't I go and look for new love?"

Malfoy pulled his mouth in a lop-sided half-smile.

"Because what we have," he motioned back and forth between them, "is what you want. All the work you want, exploring new magic, expanding your knowledge, and the heat between us. When we get together in your office, we never know whether we'll discover new magic or christen another surface. Or in my office. Or my house. Or yours."

He tilted his head slyly. "Dissolving boundaries between challenging, rewarding work and life, that's the life you want. You've tried the traditional conventional way and how did that work out for you?"

He took her grimace at face value and drove his last point home. "But what we have – is life. Power. Heat. Passion." He leaned back in his chair, having finished his plaidoyer.

"But," Hermione tried one last argument, "where's the love in all this?"

Malfoy huffed. "You want love?"

"I may – at one point."

Malfoy let his head sink back, exasperated, and exhaled through his open mouth.

"I'll make you a deal, Granger. Consider this a – business arrangement. I'll pay you handsomely as my Chief of Research and you work for my company as you've done for the last few months. Whatever money we need for our- endeavours, we take from my coffers. We continue sleeping with each other, as we've done. If you feel like it, you stay the night with me. If you don't, you don't. As long as you have nothing better, you accept our arrangement."

He bent forward again, fixing her with his clear grey eyes to finish his proposal.

"If – and only if – you find real love outside our arrangement that you want to pursue – I let you go."

Hermione surveyed him incredulously. "You would simply let me go?"

He nodded. "If you tell me you've found love with someone else, yes."

Hermione was flabbergasted. That was very un-Malfoyish. And not at all like a business arrangement.

"What's in it for you?" she asked suspiciously.

He grinned boyishly. "I've explained myself enough. Think about it, Granger. If you decide you'll accept our arrangement, you'll join me for dinner tonight. I have a standing reservation at the 'Black Capon' at eight. Make yourself up; it's not a place for jeans and a jumper. Besides, I want to see you in a little black dress."

"Don't order me around, Malfoy," Hermione hissed when, having finished her lunch, she got up to leave. She gladly left the bill to him.

"Granger," he called her back once more. She turned back to him and startled a little at his fierce gaze. He took her hand to pull her to him. When her face was at his height, he said vehemently, "Make no mistake with your decision. _If_ you decide to accept, be aware that I will do my utmost to keep you. I have money enough to get you anything your heart desires. And then some." Then he let go of her hand and Hermione pulled back.

"One more thing, Granger. Don't over-analyse it. You can back out anytime," he finished with an almost pleading undertone.

Stunned against her will, Hermione couldn't do more than nod her understanding before she retreated.

She spent her afternoon over tea, doing exactly that; analysing the situation. Interspersed were a few episodes when she dreamed of her times together with Malfoy, making her blush when she remembered the heat and passion.

Could she give this up? Perhaps.

Did she want to? Absolutely not.

And she didn't say this because it tickled her libido. While the sex was phenomenal, it had only been a start. Now, however, it intricately intertwined with their work. And she wasn't giving up this work for the life of her. Malfoy had come a long way, too. She couldn't even imagine him calling her "Mudblood" anymore and she savoured her time with him.

While she sat for tea in her favourite Muggle coffee shop, his last pleading look imprinted in her memory, she overheard two women talking in the booth next to her. Hermione could only imagine that the witches had thought they wouldn't be overheard when going to a Muggle coffee shop, the same reason Hermione went, actually. Otherwise, they likely would have cast a _Muffliato_.

"Did you hear?" one witch asked.

"Of course," the other one answered. "Poor Astoria, she's done everything for him, given him everything, and now this."

"Pansy Parkinson, you know, my second cousin once removed, is still good friends with the Malfoys and she told me that they already had trouble. Astoria always did what _she_ wanted. She doesn't care Shrivelfig's worth for Malfoy. She doesn't even let him in her bedroom."

The other witch gasped. Apparently, that was a big no-no. "The big party a year ago was just a trial to patch things up, and it only made them more ridiculous. They've been on the rocks for ages."

That was news for the other witch. And Hermione as well. Against her principles, she listened.

"Was there cheating involved?" she asked. Hermione blushed.

"No, no infidelity. Not that I know of. You'd think if Malfoy had one on the side she'd step forward and lay a claim. But, no. I believe it was more a matter of having drifted apart. With Scorpius gone to Hogwarts now three years…"

"You mean the child was the glue that held them together?"

The other witch must have nodded wordlessly, which Hermione couldn't see. The second witch continued.

"It's all because of the war. Twenty years later, now, we all pay the price, we who have survived. I don't blame anybody for splitting. Life's too hard to live without love."

The first witch sniggered. "If even a smartarse like Hermione Granger can do it…"

The second witch took up the thread contemplatively. "Yes, that's what I mean. It _is_ pretty darn smart of her to cut her losses and move on. Just because she's been the war heroine and Ronald Weasley her designated partner doesn't mean that she has to pretend to be happy if she's not. Times are changing. And she's setting an example. It will remain to be seen if it's a good one, but at least there are _options,_ other than sitting it out, as we've done for the last millennium, weaving malicious intrigues against our husbands whom we can't stand. I laud her for taking that step. Even if I don't like her, personally."

"What about our traditions?" the first witch asked.

"Well, our traditions were responsible for getting us into the Voldemort mess in the first place, weren't they? So, good riddance, I say. We'll make new ones."

"It's not that easy," the first witch protested.

"Nothing's easy. _Life_'s not easy. All the more important that we keep an eye on what's really essential in life. Like love," the second witch replied heatedly.

Love – Dumbledore had always believed in love. But there were different kinds. There was the smothering one, like Molly Weasley's, which handicapped the loved person to grow exponentially. And there was the love that persisted even though you let go. She wasn't sure if there was any kind of love involved in her decision at the moment, but Hermione thought, passion was a good start.

She decided to tune out the conversation and leave. The two witches had given her many things to think about.

So, Malfoy had split from his wife, as he'd said. It couldn't have been easy. All his familial obligations - his parents had likely given him hell - his pureblood traditions, and his influence.

In their last talk, Ron had given her an ultimatum. He had known about her work with Malfoy and likely how close they had gotten. He had been furious.

"_So, you're fucking Malfoy, is that it? Is he good? You know that he has no heart, right? You were nothing but a Mudblood to him. He'll use your brain and that's it. He'll use and then discard you."_

"_Ron," she'd tried to placate him, "we work together brilliantly."_

"_Oh, yes, with you, it's always about work, work, and work. Where's the life in that?"_

"_If you mean where's the life in serving my family, I have to tell you that I much prefer my work."_

_Ron was flabbergasted. "You'd rather work than be with your loved ones? The Hermione I married would have never said that."_

"_No, Ron, not _being_ with my loved ones. Serving them, absolutely. And that's all I've been doing. I didn't mind taking care of our kids, but my grown-up husband shouldn't have required as much pampering as he requested. The Hermione you married got sick of catering to you."_

"_Harry will never forgive you, if you break up with me for good."_

_Hermione stiffened. "Harry will get over the fact that his two best friends are not a couple any more. Other than that, nothing has changed for him."_

"_Hermione," Ron whined, switching tactics for the fifth time, "I miss you. I love you. I'm nothing without you. I want you back. Please, give us another chance."_

"_I don't know, Ron," she whispered back, weary of his quick turn-around but still not able to make a final decision with a whiny husband. "I have to think about it."_

"_What do you have to think about? If he fucks you better than I do?" Ron said nastily._

_Hermione shook herself, first entranced by Ron's heart-warming confession in the previous sentence and now shaken at his cruelty. _

_Then, Ron put his wand on her chest. "You have to make a decision between my love and Malfoy's using you. The next time you consider going to him, you better be sure. Because after the next time, I'm not taking you back."_

_Hermione snorted incredulously. "Oh, good, Ron. That's really good to know. I'll keep it in mind."_

Ron had always been good with bluntness.

She straightened up when she reached her door. She would make her own decisions from now on. She would take what she wanted, claim what she liked, and do as she preferred. The Wizarding world had better be ready for a _divorce –_the scandal, the shame – because she was going through with it. Encouraged by her phenomenal success with Malfoy, she would find a way to sit out the mortification going along with it. She wasn't alone.

Sitting on her sofa, her thoughts back on Malfoy, she masturbated to the day-dream of being taken against a bookshelf at Malfoy Manor. Of overwhelming heat and mutual pleasure and breaking apart. Of exploration and passion and growing mutual respect and nurturing. She came with a muffled scream at the erotic images and giggled in delight when she stretched out her cramped muscles, which reminded her of the way Draco always stretched after sex; as if it had been invigorating.

She smiled in her sated state at the thought of how well she knew his little irks and quirks by now. How ticklish he was on his sides. How quickly he was aroused when she paid attention to his neck and ears. How gentle he could be.

Yet, Draco Malfoy remained an enigma, the former Death Eater from her youth, the one who wouldn't have given her the time of day. That Draco would have exploited her for the sex and the work and thrown her away to reap the benefits. If she had thought at first that he kept her around for the sex he wasn't getting at home, he'd soon proven that he had no interest in _stopping_ what they did. That included their fruitful working relationship. But was he genuinely interested in her?

She had time to find out, didn't she? There was no catch really. She could keep a good thing until it became a hindrance if she fell in love and wanted out.

What was in it for Malfoy was the question, though? He wouldn't ever do anything like this out of the goodness of his heart.

When it was time to change for dinner, she thought she had the answer. This wasn't about lust. This was about life giving heat.

And so she went, dressed up to the nines.

When she entered the restaurant, she found Malfoy at his table, turning a wine glass around and around, obviously in anticipation.

His face lit up when she went to him and he didn't give her the time to sit down. He jumped up and took her hands before she had reached her chair. "Very nice, Granger. I knew you had it in you," he said loudly. When he'd reached her and put a quick, soft kiss on her temple, she heard him breath, "You came," in obvious enjoyment.

"I did," she confirmed calmly, smiling at the sight of his clear eyes gleaming in honest delight, which confirmed the answer she had found. "Happy Valentine's Day, Draco."

And then she sealed it with a kiss, grabbing his robe collar, in front of the flashing cameras waiting for them. A kiss that was so saucy and so thrilling that it left them panting and almost spoilt their dinner.

Almost.

The headlines of the _Daily Prophet_ the next day read "_Malfoy and Granger's Achievement Giving Heat to the Wizarding World! Development of an Anti-Cruciatus Cure. Read it here."_

And "_From an Explosive Start to a Fertile Work Relationship. Read the story of their relationship building on page 3."_

This article ended with the sentence: "_We expect a great harvest from their combined efforts. Happy Valentine's to the newest celebrity couple_" – and left no room for argument.

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THE END.

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_A/N: __viola brought up the idea of Ron and Astoria ending together, and I have to admit, I haven't thought this far. _I may let the idea simmer and then add something but at the moment, it's not part of the story. Sorry to those who were expecting it.

_More explicit thanks go to strawberrykait for brainstorming in the early development of the story, to eilonwy for inspiration and, ultimately, to Misdemeanour1331 for being so open about her stories. Some inspiration for the laboratory scene came from one of her stories. Thank you all_

_Thank you, dear reader, for reading this story to the end. Leave a review if you like it – or even if you didn't. Let me know if any picked up the volcano theme and where you found it. You'll get a PM from me if you tell me. :-)_

_I like to hear from you ;-)_


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